Agony of Prodigals
by sss979
Summary: It's in the moments of greatest trial that the team is bonded the hardest. WARNINGS: All angst/violence related warnings potentially apply. This is the story of life and death in a POW camp. If you've read my other books, you should have a pretty good idea what happens here.
1. Prologue

_My country 'tis of thee_

_Sweet land of liberty_

_Of thee I sing_

_Land where my fathers died_

_Land of the pilgrims' pride_

_From every mountainside_

_Let freedom ring!_

RATING: R

SUMMARY: It's in the moments of greatest trial that the team is bonded the hardest

WARNINGS: All angst/violence related warnings potentially apply. This is the story of life and death in a POW camp. If you've read my other books, you should have a pretty good idea what happens here.

**PROLOGUE**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**FACE:**

I'd been down this road before. Different car, different passengers - actually, I'd been alone last time - but the same thoughts in my head. What the hell was I doing here?

Sixteen months in Vegas, and I'd returned to LA once in all that time. It was four hours away - an afternoon drive through Death Valley. It wasn't exactly fun, but there were worse things I could do with a tank of gas. At least that had been my thought, when I'd decided to drive out here last June. As it turned out, I was wrong. I'd gotten as far as the city line - the first few familiar streets, then turned right back around and drove back through the desert. I couldn't deal with this place then. I wasn't sure I could deal with it now.

LA was not home. It had been home once, a very long time ago. But a lifetime had passed since then. Several of them, in fact. The boy who'd grown up here had died in the jungles of Vietnam. And the soldier had died in the arms of a nameless, meaningless woman - or two, or ten, or maybe a hundred - in the Las Vegas sex industry. Neither of those places were home anymore, either. There was no place safe, no place where I belonged. No place I even wanted to be.

One thing was for certain, though. If there was any place that felt even remotely like home, LA was _not_ it. It wasn't a place I ever wanted to visit again. But LA, of all places, was where Hannibal wanted to be. I wasn't without a say in the matter, but ultimately I knew I'd follow wherever he went. He wanted to be here as much as I didn't want it. I knew why. At least, I knew of a number of reasons why it made sense. LA was probably the best city in the whole damn country to get lost in. The roads were a maze of easy escapes and there were hundreds of thousands of nameless people lost in their everyday lives. And it was warm. He'd always said he wanted to live someplace warm.

The irony was sickening. It was just like any other city to him - warm and comfortable with lots of palm trees and fake people. To me, it was a new level of hell. There were too many memories here. Too many reminders of a life I had long ago put to death. The wounds that had healed with time were ripping open, and I could feel it like a physical sensation.

This was the very place I'd been running from when I _went _to Vietnam. The life of a Catholic schoolboy turned grown-up in a city of fake and superficial people. I'd never wanted to become that - day to day in a job that I hated with a family I pretended to love. I'd vowed never to see that day. It was amazing, and depressing, to see just how close to that I had come: fake and superficial with no feelings of love or joy beyond what was skin deep. Only now, there was an added dimension that I'd never anticipated: I had never known guilt the way that I knew it now, facing the city that the hardcore-Catholic schoolboy should've grown up to call home.

Why, of all places, did Hannibal have to choose here?

**HANNIBAL:**

Face didn't want to be here. I didn't blame him; it was too much like facing the past. I couldn't imagine what my own reaction would've been if he'd said to me, "Let's go live in Kansas, in the town you grew up in." Of course, that was a little different. A town of three hundred people was a little harder to get lost in than a city of a few million. LA was safe. It was logical. And most importantly, it was where we could all be together.

Murdock was in the psychiatric ward of the Westwood VA. He'd been there for over a year. I'd always known where to find him, I'd just never tried. It was inching up the list of things to do. First thing was to find a place to sleep for the night. Second was to get more familiar with the area. Then we could start worrying about things like identities and more permanent places to hide. There was an Air Force base not far from here. Once Lynch found out where we were - and he would find out sooner or later - he'd probably move in there, so that he'd be closer to his prey.

This was bound to get interesting.

Face was silent. BA was silent and tense. He'd left Chicago without so much as a flinch. No words good-bye, no stopping to pick up things from wherever he was staying. He took the money in his pocket and the clothes on his back, and got in the car. No questions asked. I had no way of knowing what he'd left behind. He had family there; I knew that much. But they hadn't seemed to enter into his consideration.

They'd follow me anywhere. They'd said it before, but I'd never really believed it until now. People said a lot of things in times of war that they didn't really mean. But coming here - without question, without hesitation... it said more than any words ever could've.

I just hoped to God I wasn't steering them wrong. Because although this was a very different war than I was used to, their lives depended on my decisions, all the same.

**BA:**

I knew I needed to be here. It was nothing to do with LA. I never been to California before, except on a plane on the way over to 'Nam. That seemed like a long time ago now. Maybe it was. Maybe I didn't even know how long it had been. Half the time my whole life felt like one big long dream I couldn't wake up from. So long, nothing had been feeling real. Go to bed and get up, try not to think about how low you sunk. Never talk too loud or too long 'cause the MPs might come banging down the door. It wasn't just a dream. It was a nightmare.

Still didn't feel real. But at least now it was a confused dream, not just a bad one. Hannibal still hadn't said nothing about where he been the past year and a half, since we ran from Ft. Bragg. Didn't matter a whole lot. Probably not too much different from where I'd been. Hide out and don't get caught. Face, too, been hiding.

I didn't really think Hannibal would come. Not really. Why would he? He was the one who split us up in the first place. Safer that way. Guess he was right about that. Over a year, none of us been caught. But if they life had been anything like mine these two years, none of us been living either. Hard to live in a nightmare. Hard to live all alone.

I knew a long time ago if he showed up, I'd go wherever he said go. I knew it the first time I heard a boy's choir singin' "My Country 'Tis of Thee" at the Fourth of July fireworks. Don't think I ever cried that hard. Don't think I ever shook that hard like I did, hidin' in the bathroom stall tryin' not to get seen. Somethin' about a grown man crying like that... people don't understand it. Nobody was gonna understand that 'cept the two other people in the world who already woulda known. And who woulda known that I'd go back to that hell hole and do it all over again if it meant I could get that family back. 'Cause that's what they was. They was family. And I knew I'd either die for them, or die without them. It was just a matter of how much I lived 'til then.


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

We'd been on the ground for five days before Murdock had come in to extract us. Then the chopper had crashed. We'd been running for four days since then - with the pilot in tow. Nine days in the field is a hell of a long time, and Murdock wasn't made for ground combat. Our luck was running out. Exhaustion and injury made every step as treacherous as it was painful. And it was becoming increasingly clear to me that each step was only bringing us that much closer to death.

"Get down!"

BA let out a pain-filled cry as I tackled him, throwing him onto his hurt shoulder. There was a bullet buried there, and we'd had no time to do anything about it. It must've hurt like hell to land on it. To say nothing of the mess in the wound as he slid in the mud with me on top of him. But the tackle was just barely in time to keep him from being hit by the flying shrapnel from the grenade that exploded above us. If he'd still been standing, that shrapnel would've cut him down. As it was, the white-hot fragments rained down on me, shredding my pack and slicing my legs. I barely felt it. I couldn't feel anymore - too much adrenaline. There was only a vague awareness of injury, and the realization that the VC were getting damn good with those things.

I could hear Bulldog yelling. "I don't want it! I don't want the morphine!"

"We gotta carry you anyways! You can't walk on that!"

Cruiser was right about that. The bullet that had hit Bulldog had shattered his femur. In that sense, BA was actually lucky. At least he could run. And still fire a gun.

"Hannibal! Listen!"

Face's voice, nearly lost in the chaos of gunshots and explosions, seemed far away. I turned my head, still pressed to the ground, and saw him pointing up. I listened. Helicopter. There was a helicopter overhead.

"Murdock!" Damn it, where the hell had he gone?

"He's with Cruiser!" Face yelled. "Go! I'll cover you!"

I stayed low as I scrambled to where Murdock was crouched next to the wounded man and the medic.

"What?" The pilot sounded completely drained of adrenaline.

"How far did you say we were from Da Nang when we went down?"

"Ten clicks. We were about forty or forty-five from the DMZ. Why?"

"You're sure of that?"

"Absolutely."

My heart skipped a beat. "Then those choppers that are flying overhead are from Da Nang."

Murdock looked up immediately, listened, looked back to me. "You got WP?" he asked. "So we can pop smoke?"

"No. Not anymore." Even if we had it, we had no radio to alert the chopper pilot. Murdock knew that.

"They won't see us unless we can clear some kind of LZ," Murdock said.

And even if we could clear an LZ, they wouldn't just set down and start shooting without contact. Damn it...

The rally point had drawn BA, Boston, and the remaining Nung. I looked around, mind racing for a cohesive plan. Bulldog couldn't run. Da Nang was close but it could still be a mile away or more. Did _I _even have the kind of adrenaline it would take to run for it? Not to mention that the moment I broke from the team, I couldn't rely on their fire for cover and deterrence. Running was even closer to suicide than staying put, and they sure as hell couldn't hold this position for very long. How long would it take...?

"We're on a hill."

"Not much of one," Cruiser said.

"Where's Face?" I spun, looking for him. "Face!"

"Here!" He was just on the other side of the tree line. Still firing, he backed up towards us. "What's the plan, Colonel?"

"Can we hold this position?"

Face stared. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"How long?"

"Maybe five to ten minutes if we're lucky!"

Five to ten minutes. How far could I get through the jungle in five to ten minutes? But maybe I could make it to the nearest LZ. If I could flag down one of those choppers, send them for the team... Five or ten minutes wasn't enough time. But they were out of options. Bulldog couldn't run. And I was not about to leave him.

"BA and Wo-" The Nung's head spun around as I called his name. "- you're coming with me. We're gonna break for the camp."

"Do _what_!" The same cry from several different men was ignored.

"Murdock, you and Boston go back up to the top of this hill and find the clearest spot you can. Try and make a slash and burn. The rest of you cover the area up there."

"Hannibal, that is suicide!"

"You're safer here than -"

"No, not us!" Face interrupted. "You! You're just going to run through all of them?"

Murdock was gaping at me. "You're splitting us up?" He was a little slower to catch on than Face.

But this order was not up for debate. "Look. Bulldog cannot run, and there is no way we're going to make it if we try to carry him. We need an extraction. And in order for an extraction to happen, we need contact and we need some kind of an LZ. So get to it!"

Face wasn't letting up. "But Hannibal!"

"_Now_, Lieutenant!"

The tone was enough to silence his protests. We broke and I moved without thought. I didn't have to look to know that BA and Wo were a step behind me. They were on my heels, heads down, sprinting through the jungle as fast as their injured and exhausted legs could carry them. Bullets flew. We went through them. Low on ammo, we shot only when we knew exactly what we were shooting at.

Legs screaming, chest about to burst, the pain was numbing - the running, mindless. Only the drive to succeed kept me moving. If I didn't succeed, it meant that I'd just left half of my team stranded on the top of that hill, at the mercy of the VC. I couldn't do that. I couldn't live with that thought. I _had _to make it, or die trying.

I ran and stumbled over fallen trees and tangling vines. I ran and fell as my feet got caught up. I ran and didn't look back, listening only for the sounds of the labored breathing following behind me. I ran until I suddenly stopped, face to face with an entire line of VC - weapons pointed straight at me. Then I stopped. I stopped so fast, BA ran right into me. The weapons leveled at us pulled up slightly, fingers on triggers, but no one fired as BA and I both threw our hands up.

"_Chu hoi_!" I cried, eyes lowered as I fought for breath. My hands were shaking with adrenaline and exertion. I couldn't think, couldn't move. "_Khong ban! Chu hoi!_ "

"[Weapons down! Put your weapons down!]"

Did they know I understood them? Did it even matter? "Lower the gun, BA," I translated quietly as I carefully slid my own strap over my head, keeping the barrel pointed down. "Do it slow."

On my left, BA followed my lead. On my right, the Nung - who'd understood the orders for himself - did the same. I set my weapon carefully on the ground, and stared up into the faces of my captors with a growing sense of fear and dread.

I could only hope that the rest of my team had the option - and the sense - to surrender and stay alive. Even if they did, a Special Forces team didn't have a whole hell of a lot to look forward to as a prisoner of the VC. Our world was about to change.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

"We need to set up a temporary base of operations."

Neither Face, nor BA seemed to even hear me. I wasn't entirely sure I cared enough to repeat myself. I was tired. It had been a hell of a long drive.

"Someplace small, cheap, and out of the way will work for right now. We all need some sleep."

Still nothing. BA kept his eyes on the road. Face kept his eyes out the window of the backseat. I sighed as I leaned on the door, holding my forehead as I let my eyes slide closed. This was going to take some prompting. "Face? Any ideas?"

"There's hotels everywhere," he answered flatly. "What kind would you like?"

"Small, cheap, and out of the way," I repeated.

"Roach motels are in danger zones. If you don't want to attract attention, there's a few in Hollywood."

I wasn't sure I'd ever heard his voice so flat and monotone.

BA noticed it too. His eyes shifted to the review mirror, his stone-faced expression never changing. He looked back at the road before he spoke. "Money ain't an issue."

I looked at him for a long moment, waiting for more of an explanation. BA had been quiet. That wasn't unusual - not for him. But the complete silence, ice cold and calculated, was very different from Face's brooding silence. I knew Face's story, more or less. I still didn't really have the story on BA. And given the cold look in his eyes, I wasn't going to push it, either.

"Alright, money's not an issue." I glanced into the backseat again. "Does that change anything, Lieutenant?"

Face shut his eyes. "No."

I sighed and turned to face forward again. Staring at the road, I chewed on my cigar. This was not going well so far.

"We need to try and keep a low profile," I said, ignoring the tension in the room. "It's not going to take Lynch more than a few weeks to find us here. I want to be at least somewhat established before that happens."

I could see out of the corner of my eye the way BA's lips thinned slightly at the mention of Lynch. Still, there were a few moments of silence before BA said anything. "He come around my Mama a couple times."

I wasn't surprised.

BA went around a slow moving, loaded down VW bus. I could almost smell the pot smoke as we passed. But nobody broke the silence.

"He followed me all around the Midwest," I finally said. "I always wondered, when he'd disappear for a week or two, if he was shifting gears to see if he could find either of you."

I cast a glance back at Face again, but he was off in his own world. Leaving him be, I looked back at BA, whose expression was blank. But he did speak, eventually.

"Nobody where I was at was gonna talk to a uniform."

That would explain how the hell Lynch managed to miss BA. Frankly, his new look didn't exactly blend.

I sighed as I leaned back and shut my eyes. "I don't know if we're going to enjoy the same kind of anonymity here. We need to set up a base of operations. Vehicles, communication procedures, at least one safe house. And memorize these roads." I glanced out the window. "One good thing about this city - half of these roads go nowhere and the other half are tricky to navigate. We need to know them better than whoever will be chasing us."

I could feel BA looking at me and for just a brief second, I glanced over. I was reminded of the glass eyes on old dolls. Dark and lifeless. Then BA was looking back out over the hood as he rumbled, "Why we stayin' in one place?"

There was no inflection in that. It was impossible to tell if he cared or not. It was more like he was just logging in information.

I hesitated before responding. "Because I'm not going to live the rest of my life running. We have skills - as a team - that are no longer needed by the Army. Might as well put them to better use. That means establishing a reputation. And it means staying in one place."

BA's eyes never left the road, nothing in his body language changed. But somehow I could feel a change in the atmosphere around them. Still cold, still detached, but somehow the sergeant seemed almost... relieved.

"I know some people who can send some contracts to us."

"What sort of contracts?"

"Contract hits. High risk." He paused briefly. "In the US, it's mainly drug lords, mafia, rival gangs. Out the country, mostly political stuff. They all high risk. Big money 'cause they hard kills."

The shock of what he was implying was second only to the way he was saying it. Like he was asking for his wrench. I found myself staring. But I did a good job of hiding the shock beneath a blank stare. As I slowly processed, I nodded.

"Alright. But I was thinking more along the lines of..." I paused, thinking of a suitable way to finish that sentence, trying to get my mind off of the fact that BA's method of surviving once we'd split up had been less than ideal. "Along the lines of Robin Hood," I finally finished. I grinned, satisfied with that.

BA just gave a shrug. Robin Hood or stone cold killer, it didn't really matter to him anymore. I could see that. And as much as I didn't like it, who the hell was I to judge? I'd _put _BA in that situation.

"Why LA?" Face asked flatly.

I glanced briefly at him. It was a good question. We all knew Face grew up in LA, and that Lynch would come looking here. But some things in life were just more important. "Because Murdock's locked up in the Westwood VA."

Face flinched noticeably. The big hands on the steering wheel were suddenly clenched so tight I was half expecting the thing to bend. But it was the look in BA's eyes that held my attention. It was something so deep and haunted that I knew, instinctively, what BA was remembering, and hearing - that inhuman scream, the sound that belonged to a wounded and dying animal. A noise so terrible, I could feel it in my chest. For a few awful seconds, I was sure we all felt it. And for several minutes, the only sound in the car was the soft clinking of the keys dangling from the ignition.

By the time BA spoke, his cold, dead eyes were back. "Fine." It was all he was going to say about the matter.

"I'll go see him in a couple days," I said quietly. "After we're situated."

Nobody spoke. I turned and looked out the side window at the cars they were passing as BA weaved in and out of traffic with sudden renewed vigor. Murdock was a priority. But right now, we had other things that needed to be dealt with first.


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

I slammed into the bars of the bamboo cage so hard it made my head ring. Dizzy and disoriented, I couldn't have resisted if I'd wanted to when the man beside me opened the cell and shoved me inside. There wasn't room to stand - barely room to sit up. With my wrists still bound behind me, I couldn't catch myself, and I skidded along the bamboo floor. The door closed behind me, and latched with some mechanism I could hear but not see. At least, not until my eyes came back into focus.

There was no more adrenaline, no more fear left to feel. Over-exertion and running and the panic of capture, of realizing it was all over... I'd been dragged - blindfolded - through the jungle for miles since then. I was so far beyond the point of numbness and exhaustion, I barely recognized the voice calling my name.

"Hannibal..."

"Face?" He was alive.

"You okay, Colonel?"

I couldn't answer. Eyes closed, I slipped away into black nothingness.

"Colonel, wake up. They're coming."

Shaking. Someone was shaking me. Hissing at me, "Colonel, wake up!" Where was I?

"_Day! Ngay bay gio! Day!_ "

Disoriented. Dizzy. Confused. They were pulling me up. I opened my eyes, groggy. "_Day! Day! Ngay bay gio_! "

"I think he wants you to get up, Colonel." The cold, emotionless voice, tinged with dark sarcasm, was familiar. I looked to the left, to the man who'd spoken. Cruiser. He was glaring through the bars at the armed Vietnamese on the other side.

"_Day! Day!_ " Finally, the words computed. Up. They wanted me up. Slowly, I gathered my feet under me and stood as they dragged me out of the cage. Still half-asleep and weakened by sheer exhaustion, I could barely walk. Still, I tried to pay attention. I knew I was in trouble. I had to stay alert.

Where were they taking me? How many guards? What were they armed with? I forced my mind to focus, observing the AK-47s, the NVA uniforms, the men who looked as I passed. I counted four. I knew there were more.

Up the steps - I almost tripped - and into a bamboo building raised several feet off the ground. One building of four. I took a breath as I stepped inside and looked around. No light except what came through the window. Table in the corner with what looked like an oil lamp of some sort. This building would go up in flames if it was lit and tipped. Couldn't think about that yet. Too many variables.

Hooks hanging from the ceiling - six of them, three on each side of parallel rows. Three feet apart, give or take. They hadn't been measured for equidistance. Blood on the floor - dried, old. Wooden stool in the corner. Bamboo rods against the wall. Dried blood on them, too. I knew immediately where this was going.

My legs gave out as the men on either side shoved me forward, and I ended up on my hands and knees. At the moment, I didn't mind. It gave me a second to gain my bearings, pull myself together. _John Smith, Colonel, US Army, 044340681_. No, not colonel. If they found that out, they'd be shipping me somewhere else in the blink of an eye. I didn't want to be separated from the team. Captain. That put me as he highest ranking man on the team, the one obviously in charge, but I wasn't such a good catch they had to quarantine me immediately.

_John Smith, Captain, US Army, 044340681. _I started the mantra now, while I could still think straight. I'd revert to it when I ran out of things to say. First, I wanted to see how they'd play their hand.

The man who stepped inside, from the other side of the hut, was a career soldier. I could tell it instantly. The straight posture, the hard look, the champion walk. Major, at least. Would they really send that kind of experience out to babysit a little jungle camp?I had to rethink that logic. What was he doing out here? I looked for the rank insignia as he stepped closer. Captain. He was well trained in the authority rouse, in any case. And we were on equal ground.

"Hello. I am Captain Thanh Dai."

I eyed him warily. He spoke English, and I understood him easily. Where did he learn it? I had expected a translator, at best. It was a nice surprise that I would be able to speak to him directly. It was better that he didn't find out I understood Vietnamese.

"As you have probably figured out, you are my prisoner. May I have your name please?"

"Captain John Smith," I answered flatly.

"Captain," Dai repeated with amusement. He ought to be amused. I was the best catch he'd had in a long time - probably in his entire career. He eyed me carefully. "You're... not wearing the insignia of a captain."

"I'm not wearing the insignia of any other rank, either." No harm in stating the obvious. "Trust me. I'm a captain."

"Why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"You're not wearing any insignia at all. No patches, no identification. Not even around your neck."

"I live a very private life," I answered. "I see no need to advertise my accomplishments. If you'd like my name, rank, and serial number, I'd be happy to provide it. In lieu of the dog tags."

"May I ask what division you are with?"

"Army."

"And what do you do for the Army, Captain John Smith?"

"I kill VC, Captain Thanh Dai. And the NVA."

Dai paused, as if startled by the statement. It took him a moment to respond, forcing a lighter tone to accompany the fake smile. "You may find such comments amusing, Captain John Smith. But I would advise against making an enemy of me."

"I would say we're already enemies, Captain Thanh Dai. In case you haven't noticed, our countries are at war."

"But there is no reason to make it personal."

"You kill my men, I kill yours. How is that not personal?"

His smile broadened, almost genuine. "You have quick wit, Captain John Smith. I admire that in an officer."

"And you have an aversion to the obvious. So where does that leave us?"

"Obvious?"

"Obviously we are not here to engage in small talk. Ask me what you want to know." _So that I can tell you to go fuck yourself and then we'll both know where the other stands._

He laughed. "Very direct, Captain John Smith."

"I can afford to be. Worst case scenario, I always have my wit to fall back on."

He studied me carefully, and took a few slow steps forward. I kept my eyes on him for as long as I could before it would've required me to turn my head. He was circling me. It was an intimidation tactic. It wouldn't work.

"You do not fear me," he said, amused, as he stopped in front of me again.

"Should I?"

"Perhaps not. In all that I have seen of you thus far, there is no reason to suspect that we could not get along."

"On a personal level," I clarified. "Which is, of course, separate from the fact that I would shoot every man in this camp if I had a gun."

"Is that a threat, Captain John Smith?"

"Just stating the obvious, Captain Thanh Dai."

I could see the man's frustrations growing. This was not the way this conversation was supposed to go. Whether he'd actually expected cooperation or would've settled for stubborn refusal, he had certainly not expected to engage in a few rounds of verbal banter.

I knew what was coming. I wasn't stupid. I'd pulled enough men out of camps just like this to know how this conversation would end. There was no Geneva Convention out here. Rules of warfare did not exist. I didn't think for a moment that I would be leaving this room without a few more wounds, a few more scars. But even so, it was supremely satisfying to see that look of irritation in the captain's eyes. Worth it. After all, it wasn't like the ultimate outcome here was avoidable anyway.

"I can see that it is going to take some time for you to adjust to your new status here."

I raised a brow, and quirked a slight smile at him. "Too much wit for you? Or just not enough fear."

Dai stopped in front of me and looked down, eyes black and serious. "You and I will come to an understanding," he said coldly, the conversational tone dropping.

I let the smile grow to fullness. "I think we understand each other just fine, Dai."

He looked me up and down, a scrutinizing, raking gaze. Then he tipped his head to the man standing at Hannibal's right. "[Take care of him,]" he ordered. "[Fifteen ought to be enough to start with.]"

I was careful to hide any visible reaction, feigning ignorance of the language. But inside, I was smiling. Fifteen? My own father had beaten me worse than that. This was going to be a breeze. Stripped naked and hung by my tied wrists from the hook in the ceiling, I didn't bother resisting them. I waited, and took in a slow, deep breath as I closed my eyes and braced myself. The sooner this was over with, the sooner I could go back to the team and rest...

I had never known pain the way that I knew it with the first lash of that bamboo cane. I had been shot, shredded by shrapnel, bruised from head to toe, and faced broken bones and burns and blindness. But nothing I'd ever felt was like that cane. My eyes and mouth both flew open as I tried to take in a breath. My lungs refused.

It wasn't that the pain was more excruciating, in and of itself, than all of that. I could think of a number of injuries that had been both more painful and more permanently damaging. But there was something else about this pain. Something innately terrifying. Bullet wounds hurt like hell. But by the time the brain registered the pain, the shock and brutal intensity of it was over. Then there was healing and recovery - however painful - or there was death. There was no second blow to be expected, or delivered. No third. No fourth. But after five blows of that cane on my back, I realized that my mind was shutting down. Too much pain. Sadism.

I shut my eyes hard and clamped my teeth tightly together, refusing to cry out. There was no doubt in my mind that the man could've flayed my back open with that weapon. He probably could've snapped my spine, or cracked my ribs. In fact, I knew he could've. I'd seen it, in the men we'd pulled out of these camps. Camp. I was in a camp.

I was a prisoner of war.

That thought was confusing. Synapses firing frantically, overtaken by the pain and the realization that I had absolutely no control over it, I struggled to make sense of it. Prisoner. Bright Light. Name, rank, serial number. Sterile fatigues. Laos. Da Nang. Team. Where was my team?

Blow after blow. I lost count. Surely it was more than fifteen. Drained of strength and shocked by the searing fire across my back and buttocks, I was fighting for breath. I heard speaking. I couldn't make sense of it. The man with the cane stepped in front of me. He was smiling. Sadism. Pure sadism. Another hot flash of pain, this time across my chest. I jerked involuntarily, grit my teeth so hard I thought they might crack, and extinguished the spark of fear inside of me before it turned into a wildfire. White hot pain. I was at their mercy. Where was my team?

The blows ceased. I felt no blood running. He had done it all without ever breaking the skin. I wondered just how much worse it could be. How much worse it _would _be next time. There would be a next time. I was here to stay. Here to die. Where was my team?

I rose as they lifted me, then crashed to the floor as the rope around my wrists released from the hook in the ceiling. Jumbled words - was that English? - and I was being dragged through the dirt. Back into the cell. I rolled to a stop in front of BA, and was only vaguely aware of the sergeant's leap over the top of me, trying to get at the guards. Words I'd never heard from BA were coming out of his mouth. Disoriented and confused, I opened my eyes and tried to bring them into focus. Yelling. The languages mixed and mingled - BA in English, the guards in Vietnamese. Murdock ended it with a string of Vietnamese words that I couldn't make sense of, and the guards pointed their AK-47s at him through the bars.

"Enough!" I didn't have to understand to recognize that the situation was getting dangerous. "BA, Murdock, _silence_! Now!" I shut my eyes as I put my head back down on my arms and continued low, almost a whisper. "My head hurts."

Blackness.


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**FACE:**

The closest thing I knew of to what Hannibal wanted was in Hollywood, three blocks off the boulevard on Melrose. It had easy access to a freeway that didn't get terribly crowded, and it was an area I knew fairly well. Well enough, at least, to get the hell out of it if we had unexpected company. There were other areas I knew better. But I wasn't going within twenty miles of them if I could help it, for that very reason.

I barely even saw the room as I closed the door behind me, took two steps, and fell face down on the bed. I was gone in seconds, floating in confused exhaustion. It was 2:20 when I opened my eyes again, and realized I was still fully dressed, still clutching the room key. Guess I should put that somewhere less likely to get lost.

I dragged myself up, tossed the key on the little counter with the sink and cabinets, and took a minute to look around as I stripped my clothes with numb, weak hands. I was still half asleep. Still very fuzzy. Still didn't care. Poster-sized photo on the wall of downtown Los Angeles. Beige walls, white ceiling. Old windows, maroon and beige comforter on the king size bed. Comfortable room. At least, it was supposed to be comfortable. Had it been anywhere but in LA, it would've been.

I showered - which was really more just like rinsing off. I had no energy to actually move, to wash. I barely had the strength to stand. But damned if I was going to lay on those sheets with all the road dust and dried sweat from Death Valley. I leaned on the wall as the water pounded my chest, eyes slipping out of focus and finally sliding closed. As my strength gave out, I slid to the floor of the shower stall, knees to my chest and hunched over as the water sprayed down on me.

What was I doing here? What had I lost, what had I sacrificed just to be here? Was it any sacrifice at all? I'd sold myself to the broken and the heartless, without discretion, a dollar at a time. And even the money was no comfort to me now. It was gone, worthless. At the end of it all, I owed more than I had made. The debt was more than I could bear. It was more than I could even comprehend. And no amount of money could ever buy back my soul.

I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. Eyes closed and mind reeling with memories I didn't care to remember - from decades, years, and weeks ago - I sat on the shower floor until the water ran cold, grateful for the solitude and the assurance that no one would ever care.

**Vietnam, 1970**

"I would kill for a cold shower right now."

I was leaning against the bars on my shoulder, weight on my hip in the only position that didn't cause the welts on the entire back of my body to press on something. Really, the damage was minimal, in spite of the welts. It was just one more thing to make this whole situation utterly miserable - added to the hunger pains, the stagnant heat that lingered even though it was night, and the awareness that there were two men in this cage with me who had life threatening injuries. The infection would take them if the lead poisoning didn't, and either case was a horrible way to die. We needed to get the bullets out. There was no doing that without _some_ sort of tools. But right now, maybe selfishly, all I could think about was getting out of here and getting cleaned up and cooled off.

But at least I wasn't the only one.

"Cold shower, a bottle of Jose's finest, and a whore to fuck." Cruiser's position looked anything but natural or comfortable, but he wasn't moving out of it.

I chuckled. "I'd settle for the cold shower. You can keep the whore."

Cruiser's grin was wolfish in the dim light.

I glanced around at the figures curled against each other in the cage. It was hot and sticky, but there wasn't room to move away. Besides, there was something comforting about banding close together. It was subconscious, innate - the feeling that somebody had your back, even when you knew it didn't make a damn bit o difference. We were all powerless here...

"We could really use a bottle of liquor for other purposes right now," I said quietly. In spite of my efforts, I could hear just how small and weak my voice sounded when I let those thoughts come.

Cruiser glanced around at the men and said nothing.

"How are we going to get those wounds clean?" I didn't expect that Cruiser actually had an answer to that. But it was the one thing foremost on my mind as my eyes lingered on Bulldog and BA.

"They've got to have medical supplies here."

I glanced at him, then out through the bars at the small camp. "They'll at least have basics." That made me feel just a little bit better. "Only question is how the hell we're supposed to get them."

"That'd be your department, LT."

I raised a brow. "My department?"

He grinned, a small attempt at humor. "Yeah. You who can get anything, anywhere, anytime."

I frowned. "The whole cage thing kinda makes that claim null and void."

"Just sayin'. If they are here, getting to them is the least of our worries."

I looked back at him for a long moment, then over at the sleeping figures. They looked almost peaceful. Of course, everyone looked peaceful while they slept.

"I don't mean to sound melodramatic, and I know it doesn't really make one bit of difference..." I looked back at Cruiser, eyes serious. "Do you really think any of us are going to live through this?"

"Doesn't matter what I think," Cruiser said without pausing to consider the question. "If I have the choice of a bullet or a key, I know what I'd take. And what price I'd be willing to pay. Past that..." He ended with a shrug.

I held his stare for a long moment, then looked away again. "How long before they try to get us to turn on each other?"

"Tomorrow at 15-hundred, 32. I can narrow it down to the tenth of a second if you want, but if you want more specific than that, you're going to have to consult someone a bit more perceptive than me."

I chuckled, without humor. Cruiser had seen a lot of the same things I had. Men pulled out of these camps broken and bleeding - and not just physically. Endless guilt for the things they had said and done. Invariably, the ones who survived were scarred for life; they would never be the same. I put those thoughts aside as I leaned my head against the bars again.

"I'm so fucking exhausted."

"Join the club."

I shut my eyes. "I think after that cool shower, I'm going to sleep for about a week."

Cruiser chuckled at that, and a slight smile crossed my lips. It was good to hear him laugh. It was good to remember, even in this hell hole, that we _could _laugh.

"It's gonna take more than a cool shower and a nap, man," he said. "You look like shit."

**Los Angeles, 1974**

The eyes staring back at me in the mirror were sunken - black rings and bloodshot. I hadn't shaved in three days, and it showed. Disheveled, exhausted, and run down, I hardly even recognized the person I was looking at.

There was noise in my head - a constant stream of it. Deafening. Strip clubs and raves, angry gorillas and tropical birds, hymns sung by a boy's choir, Frank Sinatra and piano bars, crackling Motown over the Jeep radio... Blur. It was all a haze of confusion. So many memories. So many different people staring back at me. None of them real. The eyes of a soldier that had seen too much. The smile of a young man who'd partied too hard, and made a hell of a lot of money doing it. Not that he had anything to show for it. Jesus Christ, I was only 23 years old. I looked like a sixteen-year-old burnout. I felt fifty.

That face in the mirror was fake. Worthless. He was a lot of other things, too. Dirty, cheap, shameful. He'd sold his soul piece by piece, a few hundred dollars every night until there was nothing left. It didn't matter who the client was. A wealthy heiress with a foot fetish or the US Army - they both paid to watch him die a little at a time. What kind of a person would allow that? Maybe more importantly, what kind of a person could look a man in the eye after he did? Because that was the kind of person I needed to be right now.

I took a deep, slow breath, dragging my hands down over my face. What was I doing here? Why LA? There had to be a better reason than "my commanding officer wills it so." Shit... Commanding officer? What the hell was I supposed to do with a commanding officer? I wasn't a soldier anymore. That soldier had diedin pain and agony, and I didn't want him revived. Sixteen months in Vegas had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was no soldier. I'd separated myself from that life completely, forcefully. Viciously, even. I couldn't go back to it. But that was the life that Hannibal was a part of. And the man he knew as Lieutenant Peck no longer existed.

I could fake it. In fact, I'd faked it quite well. From Vegas to Chicago to Seattle, on the first of what Hannibal seemed to think would be many new missions. Here, in the States. Still a war zone - at least for fugitives - but a very different kind. And after all this time, I was a very different soldier. I'd seen hell in all its forms: through the eyes of a man bought and paid for by his country, through the eyes of a whore purchased by the gods of sex and wine, and through the eyes of a traitor whose lies had bought life.

I couldn't suppress the shiver elicited by those memories. Memories so long buried, never completely forgotten. It only took a few days in his presence to being them all rushing back. A few nights as an AWOL soldier to remember everything I'd worked so hard to leave behind.

What the hell was I doing here? I would never survive this...


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**FACE:**

There was still some far corner of my mind that thought we might survive. I had to protect that corner; as soon as I gave it up, I didn't have a prayer. As I awoke to the thick, stagnant air and the sound of Bulldog's pain-filled moans, I forced myself to remember that we could and _would _survive this. That was before I heard the footsteps, and looked up to see the NVA general - his chest full of medals and insignia - walking alongside Dai toward the cage.

I recognized him immediately. It took me a moment of sheer panic to realize there was no way in hell he would recognize me. General Chow was well known in the underground of drug running and blood money. Which side of the DMZ you were on didn't make a damn bit of difference in the drug trade. I'd never crossed him; I'd never been stupid enough to let myself end up on his radar. But I knew damn well what any of my former associates had meant by "The General's drugs." They were top priority. If they didn't get to where they were going, anyone who came into contact with them would die. It didn't matter who you were; everyone knew someone who'd be willing and able to pull a trigger.

I bowed my head quickly as The General approached, looking away. The others were all asleep - or unconscious, it was hard to tell. Bulldog and Hannibal were unconscious, I was pretty sure. Part of me envied that. We were POWs at a death camp, under the enemy's control. And they didn't have to see it. BA and Murdock were sleeping, leaning against each other, supporting one another's body weight. Murdock's lean, pale, naked, bruised body pressed up against BA's ashy, dark skin. Both of them were covered in mud and dried blood.

The General banged on the top of the cage as he stopped dead center in front of it. Everyone jumped. _Damn it Hannibal, wake the hell up. _It was a selfish thought, but it was the only one I had as I kept my head down, studying what was going on around me with lowered eyes. Everyone was waiting, blinking back into focus, watching. Boston shot a glance out of the corner of his eye to me. As second in command I was supposed to handle this. I wanted to handle this. I couldn't. I had no fear of death. I had a fear of General Chow. I'd seen the effects of his cruelty. No matter how many times I told myself to look up and take charge, I couldn't move.

The General turned and spoke to Dai in Vietnamese. Murdock kept his eyes on The General, like he didn't understand what was being said. He did. I hadn't even known he could speak Vietnamese until he'd started swearing at the guards. At least, I assumed it was swearing. It sure as hell didn't make them happy. For my part, I couldn't even identify a tone or emotion in that language. Whatever it was that The General was saying, Dai just gave a slight nod.

"Wake up, American."

The General spat the word as if it were an insult, and kicked the cage to try and get a response from Hannibal. He wasn't going to respond; I knew that. We all knew that. Nobody said a word as The General looked down through the top of the cage at Hannibal.

"You will wake your Captain now."

Captain? Good to know.

Dai's voice was calm and icy. I had spent enough time in his company to know he, too, was a sadist. No wonder he worked with Chow - birds of a feather.

None of us reacted to Hannibal's demotion to Captain. It made sense for Hannibal to lie to them. If they found out he was a full colonel, he would be shipped out fast; a colonel was too valuable to be kept in this tiny camp. I ignored the heavy weight in my stomach as I realized that meant he had lied about his serial number, too. Hannibal had no protection from our government, but he would stay with us.

I was more relieved by his decision then I wanted to admit.

"He's unconscious," Cruiser answered, his voice equally cold.

"So wake him." Either Dai's vocabulary was not that advanced, or he was just plain stupid.

I kept my head down, even when I felt BA's eyes pass over me. The kick to the cage had him scowling but he didn't say a word. Unlike the others, he was openly glaring at The General. The man had earned the nickname "bad attitude" for a reason; pain and exhaustion didn't help his disposition.

"The man said he unconscious," he growled impatiently. "That mean he ain't asleep."

The General finished poking and kicking at Hannibal and spoke to Dai in hushed tones. Whatever they said to each other made Murdock tense. Shoulders squared, The General finally turned to address us like we were an audience to a formal speech. "I do not need to speak only with him. Any one of you will do."

He was eyed each of us in turn. I kept my gaze down. I had no interest in seeing what was in his eyes.

"I need only to know which of you would like to get out of this cage. Perhaps, if we can come to an understanding, you can _stay_ out of this cage."

He was warming up, building up to something sure to be nasty and unpleasant. BA chose to express his sentiments with a glare. Boston just stared far off into the distance. Deep in his own head, maybe he was dancing with his wife. Murdock's eyes dropped to Hannibal and stayed there, like he didn't know what else to look at; what was safe. _Nothing is safe here_.

But Cruiser's response was different. It was nothing I expected. Instead of bluntness and sarcasm, he spoke to The General in a calm, controlled tone that Hannibal would have been proud of if he hadn't been lying unconscious on the bamboo floor of our cage.

"An understanding?"

The General's eyes locked on him. "My name is General Chow. I am not an unreasonable man. You say your man must continue to sleep? I believe you."

"That's good. Because I can't wake him up." Cruiser sounded like he was choking on the urge to use that sarcasm as a weapon.

"You have two hurt men with you."

"Yes." That much was obvious.

"I can be very reasonable."

"How so?"

"I can get them medical attention. So that they do not die. All I ask is that you are reasonable as well."

The General was trying for "benevolent dictator." That wasn't a good sign. Studying the floor, I ignored the fear. Just like I ignored and the pain and the hunger and the smells of blood, sweat, piss and unwashed bodies. This was Cruiser's game. He'd slid right into the role, and all of us were more than happy to follow his lead. We needed those supplies. Dai and Chow knew that. This was an obvious carrot to dangle, just to see if we would dance. When it didn't work, he would use the stick.

"What's your definition of reasonable?" Cruiser asked flatly.

The General paused, but kept his dead, cold eyes on Cruiser. "You will tell me the details of your mission."

"To kill gooks like you," BA snapped. Pain, worry, and sleeplessness were getting the better of him.

"My government says I can't tell you that," Cruiser answered quickly, keeping The General's attention on him rather than BA. "The Geneva Convention says I'm not required to. Got a copy handy? I can point it out to you."

"The Geneva Convention only applies to countries which are at war," The General answered. "Your country is not at war with my country. You are therefore no more than a common criminal; or perhaps worse, a spy." He paused, eyeing Cruiser up and down. "Do you know what we do to spies?"

"Take them out for tea to discuss you disagreement like civilized adults?"

That was the Cruiser I knew. And somehow, it was a comfort to hear him.

"You are funny." The General didn't look humored. "Does it make you feel better to be funny when you are in a cage made for dogs?"  
"This is a cage for dogs?" Murdock couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Where's your mother at, then? I hear she's a real bitch."

"So ugly they gotta tie a bone 'round her neck just ta get the other dogs to play with her," BA added. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. It sounded so strange to hear him talk that way...

Looking back and forth between them, Chow's expression was passive and unmoved. After a moment of silence, he took a step back to Dai, speaking quietly. Dai immediately called for more guards. This was only going to escalate. Quickly.

"I understand it may be difficult for you while you are adjusting to your new status. So I will make the first gesture of courtesy." He pointed directly at BA as the guards arrived. "You. Come."

One of the guards immediately moved to open the cage. Cruiser tensed. Murdock let loose with a long string of Vietnamese. I had no idea what he said, but there were sudden, angry shouts from the guards and several rifles swung to point at him.

The General silenced the guards with a brisk wave of his hand, then looked at Murdock. "So you speak Vietnamese. We must have a discussion later."

I knew right then and there Murdock was going to die before me. How long would it take was the only question left in his future.  
BA crawled out of the cage. At Dai's order, the door was closed and locked behind him. Cruiser and Murdock moved forward, almost in unison, their hands wrapping around the bamboo bars in a white knuckle grip. I stayed where I was, head still lowered. It was like I was watching one of those B movies at the drive-in I used to sneak into back in LA. I could remember that life in LA, but it wasn't real to me anymore...

Two men grabbed BA's thick arms, one either side, turning his back to Chow. They were both facing us now; The General wanted us to watch the show. I couldn't shut it out, even though I wanted to.

"Kneel."

Chow didn't wait for compliance; he kicked the back of BA's knees, forcing him down. There was a thud as the big man hit the ground hard enough to send clumps of thick heavy mud flying. Cruiser and Murdock were both staring at him. My attention was on the knife The General had in his hand. It was at least an inch and a half wide, and as long as his hand. With no concern or attempt at precision, he plunged the blade straight into BA's back - right into the open and infected wound.

Even if BA had been expecting it, there was there was no way to prepare for that. A cross between a pained scream and a roar escaped him as he struggled wildly. More guards grabbed him, keeping him still. I watched as BA's blood ran down his back and pooled in the mud at The General's feet. The blood was of no concern to Chow. He dug and twisted and scraped, ignoring the cries of pain from BA and the stream of cursing in both English and Vietnamese that came from Murdock. For all the snide, antagonizing comments Cruiser generally had flying off of his tongue, he was silent. But his eyes bore into The General with a murderous cold that I had felt myself, but had never seen in Cruiser.

It felt like hours, but it was really only a few seconds. The General retrieved the bullet, and held it up like a prize for us to see just as BA's eyes rolled back and his head dropped forward. I thanked a God I knew wasn't listening. BA was unconscious.

The General handed the bullet to one of the guards in exchange for a small brown bag - one of two that the man had in hand. Whatever it was that he poured into the open, bleeding wound in BA's back, it was enough to bring him to - screaming and then cursing, using words that I didn't even think BA knew.

"God damned mother fucking pussy ass -" His curses were cut with screams. "I'll rip your fucking heads off and shit down your gook ass necks, you cat eatin' sister fucking cunts!"

Unmoved by the threats, Chow calmly handed the bag back and took the one remaining. This powder was dark. I suddenly knew what he was going to do. I wished I didn't. The General poured the power into the wound and handed the bag back to the guard. BA growled as Chow pushed his head forward and held it with one hand, reached into his pocket with the other. Lighter. He touched the flame to the gunpowder that was layered over top of the blood and salt.

BA screamed. I shut my eyes hard, tasting blood as I bit the inside of my cheek. No man should ever make that sound. No human being should ever make that sound. The sickening smell of burning flesh and gunpowder made me gag. BA's screams ended in desperate, agonized gasps for air. Each one sounded like a sob, twisted by anger and impotent rage. I opened my eyes just as he was thrown back into the cage, right on top of Cruiser who couldn't out of the way fast enough. Murdock scrambled towards him, whispering in his ear as he helped Cruiser carefully roll him onto his side. Cruiser took a moment look at the wound, then hand cupped BA's chin in his hand.

"You're gonna be okay. Got it?" He left no room for doubt.

With the barest of nods, BA closed his eyes tight against the world. Murdock settled him, shifting until BA was propped up against him. Using his body to keep the wound off the filthy floor, the pilot gently rocked, oblivious to everything around him. He was using the only thing he had - his body - to protect his wounded teammate. It was one more thing none of us would ever talk about, or forget.

"Now your man will not die," The General announced, sounding pleased. "You see? I am reasonable."

No one answered him. I felt my eyes raising slowly, catching his gaze as he dismissed the guards. His eyes drifted to Bulldog.

"For your other wounded man," he said, "you will need to first show me that _you _are reasonable. I will return later. We will talk more."

Without another word, he and Dai both turned and walked back to Dai's quarters. It wasn't until they were out of sight that I realized my hands were shaking.


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

"Colonel?"

Breathe. I winced at the effort it took. I ached everywhere, and my skin was stinging - my back, my chest... It took me a few minutes to remember why. Forcing my eyes open, I found myself staring up at Cruiser. It was early morning - already hot, humid, and stagnant. The thick, saturated air made it hard to breathe.

"Sergeant..." My eyes slid closed again.

"You remember my rank. Do you remember my name?"

"James Harrison," I answered without thought.

"Good. Now I have some hope that you'll remember your own."

I sat up, slowly.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Face's voice was low and monotone. As I glanced across the cage, my eyes came to rest on the young lieutenant, stripped naked just like I was. The welts and bruises along his chest told me that his treatment had been much the same as what I remembered in my fuzzy memories. I raised my hand, wincing at the effort and the pain that it caused, and held my forehead.

"How long have I been out?"

"A day and a half," Cruiser said quietly, handing me a small tin cup filled with dirty water. I didn't hesitate to drink it, although it tasted bitter and acidic. "We were starting to get a little worried."

"Day and a half," I repeated in a slurred whisper. Suddenly, the full realization of where I was hit me. The memories rushed back. "Where's Bulldog?"

"He's alive," Cruiser whispered, sensing the panic. "Right there."

I turned, ignoring the pain. I had to see him for myself. But once I did, I wished I hadn't. Directly behind me, the dark-haired kid was lying on his back. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. I turned around fully, hitting my head on the top of the cage in the effort, to look at his leg. His thigh was purple. Crushed. I stared silently for a long moment.

"It's bad," Cruiser said quietly. "If we got him to the hospital right now, he'd still lose that leg. My guess is that it just _knicked _the artery, which is why he hasn't bled out yet, into his leg." I looked back and locked eyes with Cruiser. "But it's still bleeding. Still swelling. And his femur is shattered."

"How long does he have?" I asked. "Before hemorrhagic shock?" I could guess, but I trusted Cruiser's assessment more.

"I don't know. A day or two. If I could tourniquet it, he might have more time. But the pain it would cause... I guarantee you he'd wish he was dead. He needs that leg to come off. Plain and simple."

I winced at the thought of a field amputation. It scared me even more as I realized that we had no antibiotics, no morphine, and no sharp objects with which to even _accomplish _the horrific task. "Is the bullet still in there?" I asked, glancing back at Cruiser.

Cruiser's eyes lowered, noticeably. "Yes. But the one in BA's shoulder is out."

I turned to look at BA, whose eyes had closed. He was leaning on Murdock, who was leaning on him. Asleep.

"It's a good thing they threw you in here before they took your clothes," Cruiser continued quietly. "The rest of us, they didn't. The only tools we have are what we took off you."

"Where'd you hide them?"

"In the floor."

Finally, Face crawled over to where we were crouched and leaned on the bars next to Cruiser. It wasn't far to travel. The cage was barely large enough to hold all of us. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

My eyes lingered on the dark bruises and weals that ran in lines along the young lieutenant's chest. "Are _you_?" I searched the kid's eyes, unable to hide my worry and not willing to try.

Face looked away. "I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. But he was holding it together. It was the best I could ask for under the circumstances.

I glanced back to Cruiser, and saw the same marks on his chest. "They take everyone in there?" I cast a lingering glance at Wo, curled into a fetal position near the door.

"Everyone except Bulldog," Cruiser answered quietly. "I don't think they'll get very far with him, and they know it. He's already in too much pain. Hell, it would probably kill him."

I took a deep, slow breath, and scanned the camp for the first time with a completely clear mind. A few dilapidated structures on stilts. Two tents. Fire pits. Ten to fifteen soldiers here. There was a vent in the roof of one of the buildings. Mess hall?

Gathering my thoughts, I leaned towards Murdock and grabbed his foot. He was awake instantly, eyes flying open. "Shh," I warned.

I touched BA's leg next. The sergeant jerked with a startled, "What!" as he looked around him.

"Quiet. We need to talk." I watched the guard out of the corner of my eye as I woke the sleeping Nung and cast a long look at Bulldog.

"Let him sleep," Cruiser pleaded. "He's in a lot of pain."

I nodded my agreement, then turned to the team as they gathered in close. I took in a deep, slow breath as I looked at each of them. Damn it, I should've had this talk with them earlier. Before they were covered with those long lines of welts...

"We were taken in South Vietnam," I whispered. "So it's name, rank, and serial number. We don't have to hide who we are."

Murdock frowned deeply. "Hannibal, you tell them your rank, they're gonna quarantine you and ship you to Hanoi Hilton stat."

"Agreed," I answered. "That's why I told them I was a captain."

The serious nods let me know they would all do what they had to in order to keep that secret.

"What do we know about the area around here?"

"There's at least thirteen guards," Face reported. "They sleep in a bunker on the other side of camp. There's a truck there."

"What direction is that?" I asked, trying to gain my bearings.

They all exchanged glances, and shook heads. "I think west, but it's hard to tell," Murdock said quietly. "The cover's too thick. There's no way to tell which direction the sun comes up and goes down."

"How large is the camp?"

"Five buildings," Face continued. "Probably two or three years old. They use one for storage, one for barracks, and one was the interrogation chamber. I'm not sure about the other two but if I had to guess, one's a mess hall and one's Dai's quarters."

"There's a pit over there," BA pointed. I turned to look, but saw nothing in the dim morning light. "It's got a bamboo grate over top of it. Maybe another holding area. Guards go over twice a day, drop a bucket down, pull it back up. Maybe they feeding other prisoners."

"The guy who runs the camp is a captain," Murdock offered quietly. "Thanh Dai. But there's another guy visiting. A general."

I raised a brow. "General?"

"General Chow," Face said low. "He owns Dai."

I locked eyes with Face almost involuntarily. I didn't like that dark look in his eyes. "You're familiar with him?"

Face nodded once, slightly. "Watch out for him, Hannibal."

I tucked that away in "important information." I would meet Chow soon enough, I was sure.

"Best I can tell, Dai and Chow are the only ones who speak English," Murdock continued quietly. "But they both speak it very well. Dai's got a lieutenant, Nguyen Quang, but the rest of the guards are enlisted. At least the ones I've been able to see their insignia."

"There's another guy, too," BA said. "Vietnamese. Don't carry an AK like the rest."

"He came with Chow," Face said. "Pretty sure he wasn't here before Chow showed up. And I think he's the cook."

"Has anybody else come or gone from the camp since we got here?" I asked.

Face shook his head. "No."

"What about their communications?"

"Unless there's a radio in that truck, my guess is that they're cut off."

"There ain't no antennas," BA agreed.

"Not uncommon," Face said. "A lot of these camps are designed to be completely self-sufficient."

"But it could be that they do have a radio somewhere if we're assuming that Dai actually called Chow," Cruiser said.

"Do we have reason to assume that?"

Cruiser and Face exchanged glances. "It's speculation," Cruiser admitted. "But probable. He's here for a reason."

I nodded. For a general to pay a visit here, there was indeed a reason. "Anything else?" I looked to the Nung, who hadn't said anything yet. "Wo? Anything?"

He hesitated for a long moment. "We came through water. Little water. Remember?"

Hannibal nodded. "A stream. I remember."

"Only water at where we crash is to east. Little water, stream, run to big water. East."

"So were most likely somewhere east of Da Nang. Four or five clicks from where we got picked up, if I had to guess."

Face nodded. "Sounds about right."

"Alright." I took another deep breath, and let it out slowly. "We've all seen enough - heard enough - to know what to expect here."

Cruiser smiled tightly. "Geneva Convention be damned."

"For them, maybe," I said, my voice hard and emotionless. "Not for us. Name, rank, serial number. But if they dobreak any one of us - and I mean this very seriously, because we have to consider that a possibility - we _all _need to know what was said. _Remember _what you tell them. The less new information we give them, the better. If we can all regurgitate the same stuff, it'll help."

I looked slowly at each of them, holding their gazes as they nodded. "We've all been trained for this. We know what's coming. Don't antagonize them, don't cooperate with them. The best thing you can do is remain unremarkable. They're going to pit us against each other. We need to remember at all times that our strength is in our unity. It's the one advantage we have. Understand?"

"Tell us about the _plan_, Hannibal," BA said quietly, eyes locked hard on me. "The plan to get us out of here."

"I'm working on that." I made absolutely sure that my voice rang with confidence. "But until we have something feasible, I don't want anybody running off half-cocked into the jungle to try and escape. Are we clear on that?"

There were nods all the way around.

"This needs to be organized. Needs to be a _cohesive _effort. We have absolutely no idea where we are except that we're most likely east or northeast of Da Nang. Which only helps us if we can get a sense of direction in the first place."

I cast a glance at the covered pit. "If there are other prisoners here, we need to establish contact. Work on that. But _don't _get shot over it. Survival is the name of the game right now. Murdock?"

"Colonel?"

"Captain," I corrected.

"Sorry. Captain."

"The less of their language you speak, the better. If they don't think we understand them, they're more likely to say things in our presence that we can use."

Murdock lowered his eyes. "I'm pretty sure they already know."

"Be careful from now on. If by chance they change out guards, the next set might not get the information. Or they might forget. Just don't use it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you get everything off of my clothes?" I looked directly at Face.

"Everything I could find. And I checked pretty good."

"Leave those tools where they're hidden. Do _not _take them out. Do _not _let them be found. Our lives may well depend on our ability to keep them. Any little scrap of _anything _you can get your hands on that you think might possibly be useful, get it. Protect it. We're -" I cut off as he saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and two of the guards approaching the cage.

"We're off the radar here," I finished quietly. "We're on our own. Let's stay focused and stay together."

No one answered me. They were all watching the guards as they came up to the cage and glared at us. "_Ban_!" The pointed finger was aimed straight at me. "_Hay den_!"

I understood them. But I didn't have to know the language to grasp the orders. I exchanged brief glances with my teammates, then crawled to the door of the cage as it opened.


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**HANNIBAL:**

"This place feels like a cage."

I was startled by BA's deep voice. The big man had been up for over an hour, just pacing the small room, like a trapped panther. But he hadn't spoken. He stopped every so often to stare blankly out the window. There was no telling what he was thinking.

Lying on my back with one arm under my head, I watched him for just a moment before shifting my eyes back to the ceiling. "Would you prefer an eight-by-ten cell?"

BA didn't bother to look at me. He just keep staring out the filthy window. "I die before I go back to prison."

It was a cold, flat statement of truth. And it was a truth I didn't like. "Well, I'm hoping to avoid that scenario."

BA was still staring off into the distance. He sighed deeply as he leaned on the frame. "Still feels like a cage, just a bigger one."

"There's not much I can do about that, BA," I answered sympathetically. "And there's nowhere we can go that will feel less like one."

He sighed. "Don't matter anymore."

It was said so quietly, it was hard to tell if he'd meant to say that out loud or not. I watched him for a minute. "Tell me something, BA. If you're so ready to die, why do it here?"

BA's head turned slowly to look at me, eyes fixing me with the same faraway stare. "You the only ones that was there," he said quietly. "Nobody else _knows_."

I looked away, but didn't interrupt as he continued.

"Never shoulda split up and tried to be normal again." He turned back to the window, frowning. "I been dead so long I can't remember why living matters."

"I know. And I'm sorry." I paused. What else could I say, more than that? Words were cheap. And they didn't heal. "But you need to give me a chance, BA. I can't just fix this overnight."

"Fix this?" BA was grimacing, but it wasn't anger I heard. It was closer to disbelief. "How you think we gonna fix this Hannibal?"

"We've been in worse situations. I never claimed to be able to fix them either. But we're still alive."

"We ain't dead," he corrected. Clearly there was a difference to him.

BA folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the window sill. "I ain't going nowhere, Hannibal. I followed you all over Southeast Asia, I follow you here." That was just a fact to him; the sun rises in the east and BA would follow me to the ends of the Earth. There was no question of trust or loyalty here. "If this get fixed, if it don't. It ain't gonna change that. But if you asking me to hope or pray things are gonna get better, don't. I gave up on that a long time ago."

I was quiet for a long moment, considering. "I don't even know what I would tell you to hope for. We might not make it past next week. Much less next year." He hesitated, and a slight smirk crossed his lips. "But it's not the first time we've said that. We may just get out of this yet. Like we have every other time."

BA said nothing. I let the silence stretch and sighed, closing my eyes again. "Try to get some rest, BA. You're going to need your energy."

Finally, I heard the footsteps as he walked from the window to the bed, and unceremoniously flopped down on the mattress.

**Vietnam, 1970**

Captain Dai was seated on the stool in the corner of the room when I was brought through the door and unceremoniously tossed at his feet. There was another man standing beside him. That had to be Chow. I guessed it before I even saw the insignia on his uniform.

"I see you are awake, Captain John Smith," Dai greeted me. "Are you feeling more energized?"

I pulled myself up, but heavy hands on my shoulders made sure I remained on my knees. That was fine with me. My legs weren't working too well, anyways. Being cramped in a tiny cage, unconscious for a day and a half, could cause that.

"If by 'energized' you mean cooperative, then I'm afraid not. But the accommodations are top notch. I give it four stars."

He tipped his head, confused. "Stars, Captain John Smith?"

His English was not so practiced that he understood colloquialisms. No matter. I wasn't about to explain it to him. I merely smiled politely, and waited. One of them would speak. They'd brought me in here for a reason.

"There are more comfortable places, you know," Dai said. Even within this camp, you could have more food. Better water."

The mention of water made me realize just how thirsty I was. I hadn't had time to think of food yet; I'd just woken up. But water was something I knew I needed. Desperately.

"Somehow, I have the feeling that those rooms might be a little out of my price range."

"Not necessarily. You should listen to what I have to say."

"Well, whatever you have to say, it would be impolite not to listen. But I can't promise that I'm going to agree with you. We are, after all, on opposite sides of the same war."

I knew I was pushing my luck to keep bringing that up. But I hoped at the same time that I was making myself clear. I had every intention of remaining just as polite and professional as I could manage with the Vietnamese captain. But cooperation, by definition, required that we would want the same thing. And we did not want the same thing. Dai wanted a victory - an informant or a propaganda tool. I wanted a bullet in Dai's head. But aside from that, sure, we could be friends.

Finally, Chow stepped forward and Dai stepped back. There was no doubt who was truly in charge here.

"My name is General Chow," he announced. "I own this camp, and several others."

Just in case I'd been wondering.

"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but the pleasure is all yours."

"I am a very reasonable man."

"If that's the case, you're in the wrong line of work."

Chow paused, and stared at me questioningly. "Explain."

I smiled. "War is never reasonable. It's cold, calculating, and heartless. Especially when dealing with the enemy."

For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. He had his speech down pat, and I'd cut him off at the pass. I waited to see how he would recover. After a long pause, he turned and paced a few steps. "Your army confuses me, Captain Smith," he said, clasping his hands harmlessly behind him. "Your country has nothing to gain by involving itself in this battle."

"I can't speak for the men who made the call to send me here. I have my orders. I'm sure you understand that."

"It seems unreasonable that you would be willing to die on account of such senseless orders."

He really liked that word...

"As I already said, General, war is never reasonable."

"I disagree."

"Disagree all you'd like. I'd consider it a small disagreement in comparison to the fact that we're already on opposite sides of a war."

"As a reasonable man and a respectable officer, I am willing to make certain concessions to achieve a common goal."

"No offense, General, but we don't have a common goal."

"You would like to be released from that cage, would you not?"

I didn't answer. That was bait, and I wasn't taking it. He turned to look at me when I didn't respond.

"We might consider that a common goal."

Again, there was nothing for me to say. We both knew how this would end.

"Things could be much easier for you here. You, _and _your men."

I gave him a polite smile. "Tell you what. I'll put it to a vote. If we can unanimously agree that we're secretly communists at heart, we can discuss that common goal."

Chow frowned deeply, and studied me for a long, silent moment. "It really is a shame, Captain John Smith, that you are so unwilling to be reasonable. I would have figured you smarter than this."

"Happy to disappoint you, General."

He was circling me. I didn't flinch. "You would be very well treated, you know. Far better than your own people have treated you."

I didn't answer.

"Your own people would leave you here to die."

"Possibly. But that's a risk I took when I signed on the dotted line."

Again, he seemed caught off guard.

"Sorry," I offered. "I know this must be frustrating for you."

"Not at all," Chow said calmly. "I doubt that your men are so strong willed."  
"Don't underestimate my men, General," I said with complete assurance. "I know _I _don't."

"I don't intend to. But surely you realize..." He paused for a long moment, staring me down. "One's body and mind can only take so much."

"Is that a threat?" I asked. "And here I thought we were getting along so well."

I watched the dark shadow come over his eyes, so plain it was as if he was a completely different man. No officer, but a torturer. No soldier, but a sadist. "Do not underestimate _me_, Captain."

I didn't like that look. But I kept every hint of apprehension buried deep. I merely set my jaw, letting the conversational tone drop from my own voice. All the hate and bitterness I felt towards my enemy seeped in to take its place. "I know exactly what you're capable of, Chow. I've pulled men out of camps just like this one and sent them home to their families."

"Perhaps not _just _like this one."

"Not far off. You're all the same. You can beat me black and blue - and I have no doubt that you will. You can kill me, and by the time you do, I'll be grateful for it. But if you think you're going to break me..." I smiled wickedly. "You have another thing coming."

I knew the consequences of the words that were coming out of my mouth. My heart was already pounding against his ribs as my mind raced to wonder if I had just signed my own death warrant. It was a blatant challenge, and one that I did not imagine Chow would back down from. Especially not in front of Dai. But the simple fact of the matter was, if his attention was focused on me rather than the on the rest of my team, they had that much more chance of getting out of this alive.

The team wanted my plan. I didn't have one yet. I would, but I didn't yet. The bigger problem was that executing any kind of escape plan from the inside could take days, weeks. There was no room for error when their lives were on the line. And I couldn't take the chance that they wouldn't survive through it.

And then there was Bulldog...

Dai sneered at me as he stepped forward, rising to the challenge right alongside Chow. I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was thrilled to have it. True sadists - both of them. They enjoyed the thrill of abject submission. I wasn't kidding anyone - least of all myself. I would break. Given enough time, enough pain, enough mental and emotional torture, any man would break. But I would give these sons of bitches a run for their money before that happened. I was damn sure of that.

"We shall see, Captain John Smith," Dai said with a wicked smile. "We shall indeed see."

He turned his attention to the guards behind me, and I set my jaw in preparation for the sentence. "[Fifty this time,]" Dai ordered. "[And do not be kind.]"

"No," Chow interrupted, sneering at me. "This one I will do myself."


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**BA:**

"Jesus Christ!"

I didn't blame Boston for yelling. One look at what they had done to Hannibal and my blood ran cold. God help me, I wanted to reach though the bars and snap the necks of the men who threw him back in our cage like he was nothing but a bag of garbage. It wasn't the pain in my shoulder that stopped me. It was Hannibal's warning earlier, to not make trouble. Swallowing back my anger, I scowled at the guards but didn't say a word.

They had barely taken their hands off of Hannibal before Cruiser was at his side. As the door shut again, they laughed and joked in Vietnamese, amused by our pain and anger.

"Fuck," Cruiser hissed under his breath.

After a few moments the guards got bored with laughing and they turned away, leaving us to somehow take care of the bloody, broken body of our CO.

"God damn it... Why!"

Cruiser was frustrated, and past his breaking point. He was a medic; he was supposed to be able to help the hurt and wounded. But we had _nothing_ we could use for Hannibal's wounds. No water, no bandage, no clothing that we could have torn into strips. It was the same story as with Bulldog's leg and my shoulder. As I watched, Cruiser put a hand over his forehead and leaned back against the bars. He looked bone weary as he sat there trying to pull his thoughts together, to decide what to do.

"He's not bleeding that badly." It didn't sound like Cruiser was talking to us. It sounded more like he was thinking out loud. "The infection is what I'm worried about and that's the same goddamn problem we had already."

That would be about the burn on my shoulder. It was oozing, gaping and hurt under the dirty strip of cloth Chow had given Cruiser to dress it with. It was supposed to show us how cooperating with them was the right thing to do. All it really did was show their cruelty. I wasn't sure if the raised lines of blood and bruising - over the top of the wounds Hannibal had gotten the day before were better or worse than what we were already facing.

"We need to get him up and out of the dirt."

I was moving before Cruiser finished talking. So was Murdock.

"Hey! Hannibal! Wake up!" I gently shook his shoulder. He wasn't going to wake up, but I didn't know what else to do. I looked back up at Cruiser, he had his hands over his eyes, like he couldn't stand to see what he knew he couldn't help.

"Does he have any kind of blood or bruising, at all, on his head anywhere?"

There was a pause as I rolled Hannibal on to his side. Murdock, pale and sweating, carefully slid down next to him. We were both looking at Hannibal's head - blond hair that was starting to gray - but I spoke first. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so? Or no?"

"No," Murdock's voice sounded rusty and dry, but confident. "And there's no bumps or anything on his scalp."

"Then let him sleep."

The flat, far away sound in Cruisers voice had me staring at him. I never heard Cruiser sound like that before. He let it settle for a few seconds, then drew took a slow, deep breath. Finally, he opened his eyes.

"Boston, do we have any water left?"

"No."

Another slow breath. Just as Cruiser let it out just the figure lying on the ground behind him stirred. Bulldog's moan of agony made Cruiser turn his head. The moan quickly turned to a pain-filled cry. Cruiser shut his eyes again, hard. "Please," he was whispering, but I could hear the tension and desperation in his voice. "I need... I just need a _minute_."

"It's okay." Boston tapped his shoulder and crawled past him to Bulldog. "I got this one, man. Just take a deep breath."

Boston took Bulldog's hand and murmured meaningless words of comfort; it was all any of us could do for the boy. Murdock was somehow able to lie on his side behind Hannibal, using his own battered body to keep the open wounds on Hannibal's back off the grime on the cage floor. I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. I knew what he was doing and why. It took me a moment of uncomfortable shifting, but I managed to wedge myself in front of Hannibal. There was no shame or embarrassment, we were just doing the only thing we could to try and survive and keep each other alive. To keep Hannibal alive so he could figure out a way for us to get the hell out of here.

Face hadn't moved from his corner. He was watching it all, silently, knees pulled to his chest on the other side of the cage. I understood that; I could relate to what the kid was feeling. What I couldn't understand, what I didn't want to see was the vast empty look that Cruiser was wearing as he watched Face. There was _nothing _in Cruiser's eyes. It was as if he felt nothing. And in the midst of the sobs and howls of pain from a dying man whose leg was bright purple and already swollen to three times its normal size, Cruiser closed his eyes and fell asleep.

I wasn't sure what the dead look in Cruiser was all about, but it made a shiver run down my back. It was just one more thing I was helpless to stop or change. All I could do was hope to God it wasn't permanent as I closed my own eyes and tried to block out the sound of Bulldog's pain.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

My eyes were open before the sun was up. It was some sort of habit, started all the way back in basic training. Sleep light and be alert before dawn. Of course, in 'Nam, there would've been rockets exploding all night long.

I was surprised Hannibal wasn't awake yet. The sun wasn't up yet, but it wasn't really that early. I looked at him for a minute, then at the window. The curtains were open. We were on the second story and there was no one to walk by and look in. And it made it feel a little less like I was trapped in a box. Never was claustrophobic when I was a kid. Never afraid of the dark, either. Now I was a little bit of both. Not that I ever thought about things like that.

I sighed as I sat up, putting my feet on the floor. There were a lot of things I was thinking about now that I didn't ever think about. Something about being here... It didn't have anything to do with Los Angeles; I'd never been to Los Angeles before. It was the team. It was Hannibal.

I'd never forgotten the colonel's voice while he was gone. It echoed somewhere inside of me I rarely meant to go to, but somehow always did. It was wired there, almost like a part of me. Hearing it again on the outside was confusing. It brought up a bunch of other thoughts, memories, things I'd buried a long, long time ago. Well, maybe not that long. Funny to think it was really only a couple years. Felt like forever ago.

I stood slowly, pushing the blanket back and walked to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I found myself staring in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, but I'd expected that. I hadn't been sleeping much lately. Actually, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a good night's sleep.

Staring at my reflection, I slowly realized that my fingers were tracing scars. I never thought about them anymore. I never looked at them. Knives and bullets and shrapnel, mostly healed, and most easily covered. My arms and legs and face hadn't suffered the same marks that so many other soldiers had. I had as many wounds as any man left alive, but most of them weren't on the outside, and most of them I'd made myself forget about long ago. But somehow, seeing Hannibal made them all come screaming back.

That was to say nothing of what it meant to see Face. It had been a strange and cautious friendship between the two of us, from the start. Face went a long way to make it look like he didn't need nobody. And it wasn't really a lie. Except when he did need somebody. And even then, he wouldn't admit it. He fought his own battles, and he usually wanted to do it alone. As I traced the thin mark across my chest - the memory of a bamboo cane - my thoughts wandered. He seemed to fight everything alone. It made me wonder what he was fighting right now - alone in the next room.

**Vietnam, 1970**

"How long do you think it'll last?"

Face's voice was just a whisper in the heavy, putrid air. He had always been a puzzle to me. First time I meet him, ashamed to say, I wrote him off. He was just another spoiled white boy who probably joined up to prove something. I judged him on how he looked, just like people did to me. Didn't take me long to figure out how wrong I was. Underneath that angel mask, was someone who was street smart in his own way. He was at least _war _smart. And tougher than an alley cat.

The first job I did with the team, the ordinance they gave us was garbage and I said so. Face just looked at me all cool like and asked what I wanted. I knew he didn't give a damn about what the new, big, dumb, black guy wanted, but I answered him anyways, expecting to hear all the reasons I was wrong. Never been as shocked in my whole life as when Face said, "Okay, I'll get it." And that was it. He took me at my word. I made it a point to give him the same respect.

I opened my eyes and stared through the dim evening light at Face. "How long will what last?"

"This remaining unremarkable thing." Face paused, empty eyes locked on mine. "You know Hannibal. You know he's not going to be able to remain unremarkable for long. He'd take on Dai and the whole goddamn camp alone if he had the chance."

Face had pulled away from the rest of us. Even in a cage with seven other men, he was alone. Just how he dealt with things. Still, if Face was making the effort to talk, then I had to answer.

"Hannibal gonna expect us to keep it cool 'til the end. 'Til he figure a way out."

"He can't figure out a plan if he's continuously recovering from being beaten unconscious."

I shifted my back a little, trying to get some relief from the pain in my shoulder. It didn't help; all it did was cause Murdock to stir in his sleep. He was leaning with his back against mine. I didn't mind, and I wasn't going to say anything about it. Face made a point of being separate, but Murdock couldn't be close enough.

"I figure that's part of his plan. He gonna be remarkable, and keep takin' those beatin's for us 'til he figure a way outta here." Truth was, Hannibal would die for us. We all knew that. The way things were going, that might happen sooner rather than later.

Face looked away from me. "Keeping it cool only works until they break him. Or us."

I wanted to say they wouldn't break us, but we all knew better. They trained us how to break for a reason. They were lessons we all had hoped to God that we would never need, but here we were.

"He gonna come up with a plan. We just gotta be ready to do what ever crazy stunt he comes up with." Looking at Face, I was trying to figure out just what he was thinking. Never could tell what was going on in that head of his.

"The longer we're here, the worse it gets." Face glanced around at the others, all sleeping. His gaze stopped on Bulldog, lying the corner, moaning in his sleep. Or maybe he wasn't sleeping. Maybe he'd just given up on trying to find words for how much it hurt to be alive.

My stomach dropped at a sudden flash of insight. Bulldog wasn't going to make it. He was going to die right there on this muddy floor. It wasn't a matter of if; it was a matter of when and how much that boy would suffer first. It would be better if he just died now. I had been raised different than that; Mama and the preacher would both be mad if they knew what I was thinking. Course, they weren't watching a kid die a slow and painful death. Other than killing him with my bare hands, I had no way to help him.

Shaking my head at those thoughts, I looked back at Face as he continued. "Look at us BA. We couldn't run through that jungle if we were out of this cage and fully armed. The longer we stay here, the worse it's gonna get. Just ask the guys in that pit over there."

We hadn't seen the pit yet - who or what was really inside it. We didn't really have to see it to know. It was a gut feeling, backed up by the fact we'd seen it in other camps - guys we'd rescued. And those kinds of gut feelings weren't wrong.

"All the more reason to listen to Hannibal and be cool; We need to stay out of the pit, stick together and be ready to do what he say. It's the only hope we have of gettin' out of here" I had no idea what kind of plan Hannibal would come up with, but I knew for sure it was our only hope. And no matter what it was, I would do it.

Face looked up and stared at me for a long moment. His eyes were still empty, but the expression he wore seemed almost confused. "You really think we're going to get out of this."

"If we can stick together, not give Charlie a reason ta kill us first. Then yeah, I think we can."

I meant it. If we just did what we do in the field - watch each other's backs, do our jobs, and function as a team - then we had a better chance than anyone else out here.

** "**First?" Face was staring at me blankly, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Before what? Before the cavalry rides in?"

"Ain't no cavalry, Face. We gonna save ourselves. Hannibal gonna make a plan and we gonna follow it. That's kept us alive so far, ain't gonna mess with it now."

He stared for a moment more, and finally looked away again. "You know, there's sort of an irony to this." He shifted uncomfortably, trying to stretch. But there was no room for that. "Thirty-seven men. I broke the fucking record, across three different teams." He paused for a long moment and looked back at me. "And here I am." Face didn't finish, but the implication was clear. He expected to die here.

Looking in those empty eyes, I thought about what he was asking me. Face was a lot of things - mostly things my Mama warned me not to be - but he was rock solid and 100% loyal to the team. He had also earned my respect, which didn't come easy. I didn't know his story, but I knew he never had anyone in his life like Mama. No one had ever just accepted him, told him he was worth the hassle. Here was a kid who didn't think he was worth anything. I wondered how different things would be if some one had got to him when he was little, let him know that he mattered, not for what he could do, but what he was.

"We ain't dying here, Faceman. We gettin' out and you gonna have more names for that list."

He looked so alone and small. Without thinking, my hand was on his shoulder, giving the sweaty and dirty skin a quick squeeze.

"You just gotta have a little faith, brother." Faith and hope was all we had at this point.

Face didn't say anything, just looked at me like he was trying to see inside my head. Then he shut his eyes, curled his legs up tight against his chest, and leaned against the bars. The only thing I heard in the darkness as I watched him go to sleep were the sobs of pain coming from Bulldog and his quiet pleas for death.


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**MURDOCK:**

Face knew General Chow. I didn't have to get the gory details to know that much. And he hadn't been willing to share the gory details when I asked. That was okay. I could tell by the look in his eyes. Face didn't scare easy. Chow was bad news. Maybe even worse than Dai. As the guards shoved me through the door of the raised bamboo structure, I found myself face to face with a monster. Two of them, actually.

It wasn't my first time in this room. Dai had given us all his own very special howdy right here; my back still burned from that. I ignored the stench that seemed to be imbedded in the room and smiled at the men who were going to torture me. This was going to be a hell of a long afternoon.

The guards left, and then it was only the three of us. Chow and Dai with their pistols and me with nothing but a smile that I was determined to keep. I tried not to look at the chair in the center of the room with the blood-stained floor. That was new; last time Dai had just strung me up like a side of beef and had his torturer beat me.

Speaking in Vietnamese, Chow broke the silence as he pointed to the chair. "[Please. Sit.]"

The general could speak English, but he was using his own language. Not a good sign. The first thing Hannibal had told me when he came around from his visit with Dai was not to use Vietnamese anymore. Too bad I had spent a good deal of my time up to that point using it to swear at our captors in all sorts of colorful and creative ways.  
I answered in English. They knew I spoke their language; it was probably why I was here. But no need to bring it to their attention."Thank you kindly. Nice to see that we don't need to stand on ceremony and formalities."

Words were rolling of my tongue in a deep southern drawl that wasn't mine. I was trying not to think about the blood on the floor as I sat down.

"Mind if I call you Phil?"

It wasn't that I was feeling brave. I was playing a part, trying to do what Hannibal had said. Being unremarkable wasn't something that came naturally to me. I was different, never quiet fit in, always sticking out just a little more than the people round me. I wasn't normal, but I was good at imitations. I had watched the others; glib, sarcastic replies seemed to be the way BA, Cruiser and Hannibal handled this. Face had been pretty quiet, but I imagine he'd taken his interrogation with defiance all of his own. So I had rolled them all into one and came up with Lieutenant I-Don't-Care -And-You-Don't-Scare-Me Murdock.  
"[I understand you speak Vietnamese quite well. At least, that is what Captain Dai tells me.]" He nodded briefly to Dai but kept his eyes on me.

The trick with a good lie was to keep some truth in it. But I wasn't a very good liar. Good thing Lieutenant Not-Afraid was a better liar than I was. Smiling pleasantly, I answered Chow in tourist grade Vietnamese.

"[I some speak yes.]"

I made sure to keep my pronunciation just as good as it had been, but used the wrong structure. The chances of them buying it were slim, but it was worth a try. Dai just shook his head and glared at me.

"[You seem to speak it better when you are uncomfortable.]" Since Chow was still speaking Vietnamese, I was forced to assume they didn't buy my drunken tourist act for a second. Damn. "[Must I make you uncomfortable in order to have an intelligent conversation?]"  
I wanted to laugh at that. I was sitting stark naked in front of two sadist and he was talking about making me uncomfortable? News flash, I'd passed uncomfortable a long time ago. Suppressing my urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all, I weighed my options. Hannibal wanted me to stick to English only, hoping that they would forget I understood and maybe they would slip up and say something important in front of me. But the fact was, Chow and Dai both knew I spoke Vietnamese; I'd pretty much told them myself. There was no chance of them forgetting. If I kept denying it, Chow would beat me bloody. Then, after I was weakened by his idea of fun, he would start asking his real questions. Hoping Hannibal would understand, I made my decision.

"Alright." I flashed them my best rueful grin. "I didn't want to brag but, yes, I speak Vietnamese pretty well, if I do say so myself." However, if he wanted to interrogate me, then he could deal with translating.  
Still standing by silently, like a good flunky, Dai couldn't keep a flash of triumph out of his eyes. For his part, Chow seemed pleased with my answer. His next words sounded entirely conversational.

"[Where did you learn?]"  
"A Berlitz course. And then some time with the local ladies."

Keeping the smile on my face I refused to think about the truthful answer to that question. I couldn't think about her right now. Not here. Too dangerous.  
"[You like our women?]" Chow was clearly happy to hear that.

"I like all women. They're soft, they smell good, they're real pretty and they can fold guest towels just right." I was off and running, far away from where I was too close to being. "And they can take their bras off without removing their shirts, like a magic trick that defies the laws of physics."  
He was quiet for a moment, maybe trying to figure out just what I was saying. Then, for the first time, he almost smiled. "[I can give you lots of women.]"  
That urge to laugh was back. He was playing the death camp version of "good cop, bad cop". Dai had helped by whipping the stuffing out of us. Now Chow would play his part. It was a good effort.

"That's a real nice offer and all, but I'm going have to pass. I don't want the kinda woman who is given away. Besides, the fun is in the chase and the romance - the long walks on the beach at midnight, hearts and flowers, moonlit strolls as the whippoorwill sings its haunting song."

I didn't laugh but I did smile. There was no telling how many of those words Chow understood and how many he was guessing on, but he didn't let it shake his confidence.

"[Whatever it is you want, I can get it for you. I am a very powerful man.]"  
"World peace?" That seemed like a real good idea to me right about now.  
"[For _your_ world, perhaps.]" His head tilted to the side as he studied me. "[What do you care if the world out there is in chaos? That means nothing to you here, now.]"  
I was fine with talking; it beat the hitting part hands down. Besides I was good at this part; confusing people with my thoughts was a specialty of mine.

"I don't like thinking small, Phil. You gotta look at the big picture, the whole landscape; the forest for the trees, the needle in the hay stack, the whole enchilada. The kit and the caboodle." I tossed out every bit of slang I could think of. _Good luck translating caboodle into Vietnamese, Mr. Powerful. _  
He must have sensed what I was doing. The look in his eyes changed through the course of those few sentences to something very cold, his true self. When he took a few steps toward the bamboo canes in the corner, Dai smiled. Chow grabbed a cane and simply used it as a walking stick as he strolled back. It was meant to draw my eyes to it, not to pose a direct threat. Yet.

"[You will speak in Vietnamese now.]" Apparently he'd had enough of my playing.  
Still smiling, I answered in his language. "[Fine with me.]"

I didn't tell him I wasn't going to make more sense in Vietnamese. Why spoil the fun? Besides I was in no real hurry to get reacquainted with the bamboo.

"[It's good for me to practice,]" I continued. "[I'd hate to have my skills deteriorate. No better way to learn than immersion.]"  
"[That is how you learned? A woman, no?]" There were a few seconds of silence as Chow looked straight at me with those dead, cold eyes. "[What was her name?]"

I could feel something inside of me harden before he had even finished asking the question. It was the one thing I would never tell. Her name was mine to guard and protect. And this time, I would die to do just that. Not because it mattered, in the larger scheme of things. But because it mattered to _me_.

The anger came very suddenly, and very strong. I felt no fear at that inhuman look in his eyes. I should have, but I didn't. All I felt was fury - rage at being here, at the cruelty of people like him, at the same feeling of helplessness I had felt so many times before.

I knew all about Chow, even though I'd never met him. Hell, I had been dealing with people who were just like him in some form or another all my fucking life. People who used their power to attack, destroy and hurt. Fighting back that rage, I kept that smile on my face.

"[You must have lost something in the translation. I said 'ladies', plural, as in lots of ladies. Lovely little Vietnamese girls and women. Young and old, short and shorter, all types and shapes. Whores, good girls, wives, daughters, doesn't matter. Just love talking to them all.]"

Chow hesitated, sizing me up, and then took a slow, smooth step forward. It took me a moment to realize he was circling me like a shark.

"[You think you are clever.]" He sounded amused as he stopped behind me for a long moment. "[But I am clever too. I have learned a great deal from my American friends. Your language, your culture, your military...]" Chow was walking again, his heavy boots thudding on the bamboo floor until he was in front of me again. He leaned on the cane, the implication clear. "[And I have learned that if one form of communication does not work, perhaps another will work better.]"  
There had to be something wrong with me, because I got a real smug sense of satisfaction out of the fact that Chow had tried his dance with me in two languages and failed in both. It was a small and maybe a petty victory, but I was willing to take it. I was going to need something to hold on to.

Raising an eyebrow at him and tried to look hopeful. "[New forms of communication? You mean like charades? I'm good at that. We could draw, that's a way to communicate. I do a great Snoopy.]" I didn't know the Vietnamese word for Snoopy so I left it English. "[Or maybe some interpretive dance. I'm a real fine dancer.]"

"[I advise you to reconsider your defiance.]"

Chow was quiet for a moment as he turned and walked back to the wall where the bamboo canes were lined up. Dai stirred a little, anxious to see the pain.

"[As I said, I am not an unreasonable man. And your life could be much easier if you were willing to cooperate.]" Chow set the cane with the others and turned, looking at me again. "[After all, I only asked you the name of the bastardized whore who taught you my language.]"  
"[It was your mother.]" The rage-filled thing inside me had the words out before I could think. "[You know, Mrs. Chow? Short woman, dark hair? She has a tiny little twisted son who likes to play with sticks and dress up in uniforms to feel important. He only goes after people who can't fight back and tries to convince himself he's smart and powerful, so no one ever figures out that he is just another common little piece of gutter trash. A child of the dirt, trying to pretend he is equal to his betters.]"

I was using the worst insults in his culture. By the look of shock and fury on Dai's face I knew I got them right. My smile fell as I lowered my voice, like I was sharing a secret. "You're not fooling anyone, General. I know what you are. I can see right though you." My smile was back, full of confidence. "You are nothing_." _

The look in Chow's eyes was all I needed to see. He was trying to keep his expression impassive, but I'd hit a nerve and I knew it. I had surprisingly little warning before, suddenly, pain. The cane hit the side of my body so hard it sent me flying several feet to the left before I landed, sprawled, on the floor. Who would've thought that such a tiny man could pack that kind of punch? He was yelling for the guards in Vietnamese as a stream of blood ran down my arm. It transferred to his boot as he kicked me onto my back. A familiar and oddly comforting detachment settle in around me as Chow held the cane at my throat. I could feel the pain, but I had learned long ago how to distance myself from it, how to slide away inside and keep my victory secret.

"You will remember one thing, you American piece of shit." Chow's face was flush with anger as he spat his words down at me. "You live and die by my word. There is no one to save you here. Wear out your usefulness to me, and you need not fear death. You will be begging for it years before you take your last breath."

Looking up at Chow I saw that I was going to die here, and yet there was no fear. I don't know why. There was nothing left for me and no one to notice when I didn't return. I wouldn't even get a mention in "Old Blue." It was how it should be. That was just how these stories ended.

It was ironic that I would die in a camp just like my brother. Look at that, we managed to compete even at dying. Maybe I should have thanked dear old Dad and Alan. They were the first ones to teach me this game - how to survive pain, and make it hurt less. I had been playing it with them as long as I could remember. My mind drifted away from my body. I had changed the rules of Chow's game into something I could come to terms with. He would kill me, but he wasn't going to get my secrets.

I knew that. I knew it for a fact, simply because I knew I could make him snap. And that meant the victory was ultimately mine. I controlled him, not the other way around.

"You didn't happen to know a guy named Alan Parker did you? You two would have got along great."

I let my eyes close and stopped talking for the moment. I was going to need my breath for screaming. But still I had my win, my secret. And I would hold it tight until I needed it.


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

"Lieutenant?"

Face wasn't asleep. His eyes opened and he looked around slowly before he turned to me. "Hmm?"

"I need you to do something."

"Anything."

I glanced at him, wary of the instant answer, given without thought. But what I saw in the Face's eyes was as genuine as if he'd thought it through for hours. Something inside of me gave a sigh of relief at that unquestioning trust. I was going to need it - from all of them. If I could maintain that, then we had a chance of getting out of here alive.

My gaze lingered on Bulldog, who was writhing in pain. The others were close to him, all asleep. Only we were huddled on the other side of the cage.

"He's not doing well."

Face frowned at me. "I can see that."

"That leg needs to be amputated. And if we can't do it soon, he's going to die. We don't have the facilities, the tools, the medicine to prevent infection."

The frown deepened. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"We need the cooperation of the guards."

Face's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak.

"Cruiser can _do _a field amputation. Hell, I could do it. It won't be pretty, but it's his only chance of survival." I paused. "But we need access to their facilities. Someplace we can make reasonably clean. Tourniquet. Bandages. We have nothing."

"And you think I can get that?" Face asked in disbelief.

"Not just that." I stared at him, completely serious. "He's going to need antibiotics. So does BA. If that wound in his shoulder isn't infected it will be."

"What makes you think they _have _antibiotics?" Face's voice was cold. "When was the last time you saw an empty bottle of penicillin in an enemy camp?"

"Whatever treatment they have is more than what we have in here."

Face sighed, and put his head down, rubbing his forehead hard. "Fine. So what do you want me to do? Ask nicely? Steal it? I don't even know where or what 'it' is!"

I hesitated. "I was thinking more along the lines of bartering for it."

Face's hand dropped, and he stared at men, stunned. "Bartering what?"

"Your cooperation."

The words dropped like a ton of bricks. Face's startled look slowly turned to one of dark fury. "You're ordering me to commit _treason_?" he hissed at me.

"Lieutenant -" My words were cut off by an agonized scream from the man on the other side of the cage, just a few feet away. He awoke the others, who immediately leaned in to attend as best they could. I had to shut my eyes as the sound died into a sob.

When I could speak again, it was in a whisper. "I wouldn't order you to commit treason if I could."

"So what are you saying?"

I didn't answer him.

Face glared. "You can't order me to give them anything more than name, rank, and serial number according to -"

"Face," I cut him off. "I'm not ordering you to do anything, I'm _asking_ you."

Face stared. "To do what, exactly?"

"I've never seen anyone manipulate people the way you do. They have what we need. So do what you do."

"Oh, fuck you!" His voice was just above a whisper, but the frustration was perfectly evident.

"Face, I can't force you. And I'm not going to try. But if you don't do this, I will."

"Why don't you?" Face demanded. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because we both know you're better at it." _And because if I break, they will come down that much harder on all of you..._

"I'm better at what? Lying?"

"Lying, manipulating, bargaining..."

He looked away from me. "Fuck you."

"You can either sit there, holier and more righteous than me, call it treason, and tell me do it because you would never. Or you can trust me."

Face was quiet for a long time. When he finally looked up, his expression was pained. "Why are you doing this, Hannibal? This isn't how it's supposed to work."

"No," I agreed. "We're not _supposed _to get out of here, Face. Do you know the statistics on how fewmen have actually managed to successfully escape a POW camp on their own?"

"Four," Face answered flatly. "That we know of."

"How it's _supposed_ to work is that Bulldog is supposed to die, and maybe BA too, if the infection in his shoulder isn't treated."

"You really think that they have antibiotics?" The skepticism was evident in his tone.

"I really think that you could barter with them for medicine."

"From where, the Americans?"

"That would be ideal but really, I don't care."

"So this is your grand plan for getting us out of here? Lies spiral, Hannibal. They have ways of verifyinginformation and I don't! Sooner or later, they _will _catch me in that lie."

"Hopefully it will be later than sooner, and we will be long gone."

"Hopefully? This plan starts with 'hopefully'?"

"This plan starts with you helping me to do whatever needs to be done to keep every member of this team _alive_." My voice hardened and I glared at Face. "What do you want from me, Lieutenant? A promise that we're all going to get out of here? A guarantee that it's going to be okay? I can't snap my fingers and make that happen. You're either going to trust me - knowing that I _and_ my plan might completely fail - or you're not. So what's it going to be?"

He looked away from. Slowly Face brought his knee up, sliding a bare foot along the bamboo until he could rest his arm on his leg, and his head on his arm. "Hannibal, if I do this..." He looked up again, meeting my stare. "I'm violating all the rules - not just the stupid ones that are meant to be broken, but the ones that are there for our _protection_."

"I know."

"Best case scenario, this works and we get out of here and the Army puts me in jail for fucking _treason_."

"Then you can tell them it was my order."

"So you'll go to jail with me. Oh, that makes me feel so much better!"

"Let's deal with one problem at a time. I'm not going to let you go to jail. You have my word on that."

"You can't -"

"And even if you did go to jail," I interrupted. "For Christ sake, Face, if it comes down to a military prison or _this _place?"

"That's not the point."

"What is?"

"The point is they'd be right in _doing _it! You're talking about putting people - _lives _- at risk. Even if I lie, even if I'm careful, how long before they try to use that information? Then it's either going to backfire on them and they'll know that I'm lying or it'll succeed, people will die, and I _will _be guilty of treason!"

"You're going to have to be very selective about what kind of information you give them."

"Well, gee, Hannibal. What kind of information would you recommend me giving?"

"Just enough to make them believe you don't have what they want. Then point them to us."

Eyes as wide as saucers looked at me. "_Fuck_ no!"

"They're not stupid, Face. They'll use us against each other. Your cooperation in that alone will mean a lot."

He was shaking his head, eyes wide with a look that close to terror. "No." His eye shut and shook his head harder. "No fucking... No! I can't -"

"Face!" I grabbed his head with both my hands, stopping the negations that were flowing so fast from his mouth that they weren't even making sense. Eyes panicked and pained, Face looked up at me. I made sure to keep my voice calm and controlled. "I'm willing to go through _whatever_ I have to go through to keep everyone alive. And every man here would say that."

"Don't make me do this, Colonel." Face's eyes filled with tears as he shook his head, against my hands. "Please don't make me do this."

"Face." I leaned in and tipped my head down until our foreheads touched. Face's eyes shut hard. "I need you. And I need you to keep it together."

"Fuck no, Colonel, please..."

"I need you to trust me, and I need you strong. I need to be able to count on you, Lieutenant."

"Why me?" His breath was shallow, voice filling with panic. "If it's such a great fucking plan, _you _do it!"

"I will if I have to, Face," I repeated again. "But I am the SRO here. And I have to set the example that every one of these men will follow."

My words cut him like a knife. Face pulled away slightly and stared up at me with a look of fear and hurt and betrayal. "You're not even going to tell them, are you?" he whispered as he realized what I was proposing. "You're just going to let them think that I... that I caused it? That I'm selling them out?"

"If they think that," my voice was low but full of confidence, "then they don't know you very well."

The tears that had been brimming in the kid's eyes were finally overflowing. I had to fight hard to keep my own emotions in check. He was just a child, and had already seen more horror than most men would see in a lifetime. He'd faced it. I'd never seen him so much as flinch. But the thought of being used as the very weapon that would break his team terrified him in a way that no amount of physical abuse ever could. I almost regretted the words that were coming out of my mouth. What was I thinking? Face wasn't strong enough to do this. And if it broke him, I would never forgive myself.

"I'm scared, Colonel." His voice shook in a way that genuinely frightened me. I couldn't ask him to do this. I couldn't.

"I know." _Take it back. Just take it back. Tell him there's another way._ I swallowed hard. "But I need you on this." I was screaming inside. But outwardly, I was calm, collected. "We did not come this far to lie down and die." _You know what this is going to do to him, damn it! You know what it'll mean! How can you do this to him? How can you sacrifice him!_ "I need you on this."

Face dropped his head forward, onto my shoulder and took a few deep, calming breaths. I dropped my hands from his head to his shoulders, but didn't pull away. Silence from the lieutenant and screaming from the man on the other side of the cage. I was caught between the two of them.

"At least tell them," Face pleaded, not lifting his head.

"I will tell them if they need to be told. If it's better - if it's _safer_ - that they don't know, then we're just going to have to sort it out later."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're going to have to trust me."

Face sniffled, shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath, pulling himself together. Finally, he sat up, eyes dry and determined. The fear was gone, buried under the layers of a well-trained stoic. "I trust you," he said quietly.

He meant it. Damn it, he meant that. _How dare you betray him..._

I didn't take my hands from his shoulders. "I need to be able to use you, Lieutenant. I need you to trust me for that, too. No matter what it looks like. No matter what it feels like."

Face shut his eyes and swallowed hard. This plan, what little Face knew of it, would spare him the worst of the physical brutality. But there was a trade off. "I'm going to have to do this alone, aren't I?"

"Yes."

Face breathed deep, and let it out slow. Then he dropped his head. "I don't know if I'm that strong," he admitted, emotionlessly.

"You don't have to be."

He looked up.

"You just have to make them believe that you are."

Face nodded, jaw set, and looked away. "Just tell me this doesn't go on forever. Tell me you've got another part to this plan."

"We have all the tools we need to get out of here, Lieutenant," Hannibal said quietly. "But we can't run with an injured man."

"And he's going to be _less_ injured if you amputate his leg?"

"We can carry him, at that point. But we can't carry him when he's in this kind of pain. The shock alone would kill him."

"At that point," Face repeated. "How long are we talking about here?"

I felt something inside grow cold and hard. Determined. "I am _not _leaving him here."

"I understand that, Colonel. But the longer we stay here, the more injured we're _all _going to get."

"That's why we need you to get what you can get. Food, water, permission to take care of wounds and dressings to do it. If they think they're getting something out of you, they'll want to reward you. Use that to your advantage."

"That's not what I mean." He licked his chapped lips. "If I tell them _anything_, true or lies, military or personal, they're going to come to you for confirmation."

"They won't get it," Giving them anything more than name, rank, and serial number would put Face at risk. Our stories would have to match exactly, and there was too much room for error. The stakes were too high.

"They'll keep coming."

"Don't underestimate me, Lieutenant. I can take a lot."

"Yeah, but can you still _walk _when it's over? Let alone escape."

"That's a risk we have to take." I lowered my eyes away and finally dropped my hands from Face's shoulders. I looked across the small cage at the crowd around Bulldog, and wished like _hell _for morphine. I'd seen a lot of things - a lot of blood. But I'd never seen a man in so much pain.

"Tell me I can count on you, Lieutenant." I glanced briefly at Face who was watching as well. But he turned his head, and our eyes locked. "Tell me you'll take care of this, and I won't have to think about it again. That I can just count on you to do your part."

Face swallowed hard, and nodded, but didn't speak.

"Tell me what you need to tell me, and the rest I don't want to know. When we get out of here, and it comes time to defend your actions - be it in front of this team, or a military court, or God in heaven - I will back you a hundred and ten percent." My gaze was steady, unflinching as I studied the calm exterior that had covered over the boy who'd come so close to breaking down with fear just a few moments before. The soldier. The Green Beret. "I'll have your back, Lieutenant." _My _lieutenant. _My _man. "You have my word."

Face's eyes were cold as he nodded, unflinching. Maybe it was an act, but it comforted me just the same. "And you have mine."

Maybe he _was _strong enough to do this.


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**FACE:**

I awoke staring out of a tall, narrow window at a cloudy, grey sky. Maroon and beige curtains framed the wood window frame - thick but pulled back with decorative ties. Old style flip lock on bottom pane to keep it from sliding up. Nothing interesting to see. I closed my eyes. Went back to sleep.

I awoke the second time staring up at the white ceiling and the light fixture that looked like they'd gotten it out of some old west saloon. Where was I? Picture on the wall - old. A street. The caption - white letters in the bottom corner - said Downtown Los Angeles, 1929. Shit... I was in LA. Definitely nothing worth seeing here. I closed my eyes again. Went back to sleep.

I was dreaming, in and out of consciousness. A saloon in the wild west, that morphed into a Las Vegas strip club, and the bar at the Riviera. I hadn't been drinking last night. I wasn't quite coherent enough to remember what I had been doing last night, but I was sure liquor had not been involved. So why did I feel so hung over? I closed my eyes - when had I opened them? Turning onto my side and curling into a ball under the blankets, I went back to sleep.

"Rise and shine, Lieutenant."

The emotional response to the sound of Hannibal's voice, let alone what he'd actually said, was enough to make me physically ill. I turned face down on the bed, pulled the pillows closer to me, and groaned.

"How did you get in here?" I slurred, still groggy and disoriented. I hadn't even heard the door open. Maybe I was still dreaming. My fingers felt the cold, familiar metal of a pistol under my pillow, and I sobered slightly. It was an instinctive response. I wasn't dreaming. The weapon in my grasp was real.

"You gave me a key, remember?"

What the fucking hell had possessed me to do that?

"Here."

I looked up and saw him holding out a Styrofoam cup. It was steaming. Reluctantly, I sat up and turned, putting my back to the headboard and reaching for the coffee. "How'd you sleep?" Hannibal asked.

"Deep." I sipped the hot coffee slowly, careful not to burn my mouth.

"Good." He walked to the window and looked down at the parking lot. "You needed it."

Sunlight outside now. That grey I'd seen must have been dawn on the smog, not the clouds. I pulled one knee up and rested my elbow on it, holding my head. "I need a cigarette."

"Thought you quit smoking."

"I did."

"So why start again?"

"Because I just woke up in fucking LA of all places with my old Army buddies." The words were out of my mouth before I'd considered them. "I'm being chased by the military police who will inevitably find me now that I'm so close to home -"

"They would've found you anywhere," Hannibal interrupted. "They found you in Vegas, too."

"I have no viable plan for what my life is going to look like in five hours, much less five years -"

"Since when has that ever bothered you?"

"And I don't want to be here!" I finished with a vicious glare in the direction of the man who seemed to have an answer for everything. "Jesus, Hannibal, why are we even here? The only place I can think of I'd like less is Vietnam."

"Because Murdock is here," Hannibal answered simply.

I stared at him, momentarily silenced. Murdock? Was he kidding? "Murdock is in the psych ward!"

"In LA."

"It's not going to make one bit of difference to him if we're next door or a thousand miles away and you know it!"

"It makes a difference to me."

I stared at him, then looked away, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."

In the mirror on the wall, I saw Hannibal turn and look at me calmly, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He leaned on the wall between the windows, his gaze steady. "You don't have to stay, Lieutenant."

I growled audibly and turned my head away, covering my eyes with my hand. "Where the hell else am I supposed to go?"

"Go back to Vegas if that's what you want to do."

Back to Vegas. My mind reeled at the thought. Could I even go back to Vegas? Would I want to? Lynch knew to find me there. But of course, Lynch would know to find me here, too. It was just a matter of time.

Ultimately, Lynch wasn't the point. The point was whether or not _I _wanted to live that way for the rest of my life. It was never supposed to be permanent. I'd gone to Vegas to make money, get established, get ready... for what? I didn't even know. There was nothing in Vegas that I wanted - besides... one person that I couldn't afford to think about that. The only goddamn thing that had kept me going, every single day, was the knowledge that it would be over soon.

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, all of those times I'd envisioned Hannibal's arrival in Vegas; I'd seen it so many times I wasn't even startled to hear his voice when he finally did show up. I'd stayed there out of necessity. I had to stay there; it was the only place where Hannibal knew to find me. I had to wait for him. He would come. And ultimately, he _had_ come.

But now it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't the slightest idea what was going to happen now. We'd regrouped, we'd even had a marginally successful "mission." We functioned well as a team, by default; we'd had a hell of a lot of practice. But what was all of that supposed to mean? We could do this for a living, Hannibal had said. I had no doubt whatsoever that he could make that happen. Once he got his mind and heart set on something, he'd make it happen.

Yes, we could do it. We could help a lot of people. We could live and work together again, and be a team. That wasn't in question. The question was, did we _want _to? I'd left this life behind. Left it _far _behind me. There were a lot of wounds that had long ago covered over with scabs, and the last thing I wanted to do was go picking at them. In fact, right now, all I really wanted to do was to crawl into the closet in the corner of the room and hide.

But wasn't this what I'd been waiting for all along?

"There's nothing for me in Vegas."

"Well, there _is _something for you here," Hannibal said firmly.

I shut my eyes. I had no answer for that. Of course there was something for me here. It was as close to "home" as I could come - the city in which I'd been born and raised. The team was here. There was support, encouragement, help. All of those things I'd learned to do without when none of it had been available. But somehow, this was not at all what I'd been hoping for when I wished for the end to come. It was too... real.

"But I'm not going to force you to stay, Face," Hannibal continued. "So either get up and get dressed and pull it together, or don't. It's your choice. But if you're here, and you're here to stay, we need you."

The flat tone, bordering impatience, grated on my already raw nerves. I looked up for just long enough to glare at Hannibal, then threw the covers back, stood, and pushed my way to the bathroom with only a mumbled, "Fuck you," before I slammed the door behind me.

**Vietnam, 1970**

I couldn't feel my hands. The pain in my wrists was excruciating, joints loose and nearly dislocated by the weight of my own body. I could smell the blood in this room. I could feel the stretch on wounds that hadn't healed yet. The welts were replaced even before they faded - back, legs, chest, stomach. I'd screamed the first time that cane had hit the front of my thighs. I'd never felt fear like that.

Of course, it didn't much matter how much pain they put me through. The simple fact was, I wouldn't live through this. I wasn't even sure I wanted to. Of course, if the alternative was to die in front of my team, escape would certainly be preferable. The bigger fear, though, was simpler. I didn't care if I died. I didn't want to _break_ in front of them.

_"You're ordering me to commit treason?"_

_ "I'm asking you..."_

I was trembling - fear and pain and horror at the memory that was crystal clear in my mind. He could've asked me to do anything else, and I would've done it willingly. But to break, to turn on them, to let them pay for my escape... I could barely breathe as I considered the thought.

"You Americans confuse me."

I opened my eyes slowly, and fixed them on the looming figure of General Chow. For a man who stood at barely 5'2, he was remarkably intimidating. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I actually felt self-conscious, stripped naked and bleeding in front of an enemy who was watching me with careful eyes. Not that self-consciousness made much difference to me, in light of the pain.

To the right of Chow, Dai had his eyes on me, adding to the feeling that I was being scrutinized. I knew that feeling of being watched like I knew how to read a liar. It was instinctive and natural and would've elicited an immediate response if it had been anyone else looking me up and down like that. It put the ball in my court.

Anyone who looked at me like that let me know that I had something they wanted. And under normal circumstances, I knew what people wanted. It was something charismatic and enticing and attractive. Something that would make a man sign over his life savings, and make a woman spread her legs in five minutes or less. All I had to do was play the cards. And I was a damn good player.

_ "I've never seen anyone manipulate people the way you do. They have what we need. So do what you do."_

I wasn't sure what to do with that look from Dai. If I had the cards, I still had no idea what was on them. And the pain made it too hard to think. Hung naked from the ceiling, beaten and bruised, I couldn't imagine that I had anything he wanted. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Dai's raking gaze up and down my body was merely an admiration for Chow's handiwork.

"You would rather die than live," Chow mused. "And for what? You would be a martyr for your country, but your country cares nothing for you."

I clenched my jaw, holding back the biting anger that brought vicious comebacks immediately to my mind. They were smokescreen for the fear. But right now, they would do more harm than good. I needed them to believe I was frightened enough to turn on my country, on my team. That I would actually believe what I was hearing. My stomach turned at the thought.

_ "Tell me I can count on you, Lieutenant. Tell me you'll take care of this, and I won't have to think about it again. That I can just count on you to do your part."_

Chow finished with a string of angry Vietnamese, and left the room. I flinched at the sight of the cane as he tossed it in the general direction of the corner. It was stained with blood, though not my own. My skin had not been broken, though I was pretty sure at least one of my ribs had. It hurt to breathe, especially when I was hanging like this. I turned my head away from the cane, from the man who was still looking at me, from the thought of the pain that was all my world consisted of right now.

I could smell Dai's approach, but didn't look up.

"It's almost a shame to damage something so pretty."

That tone. It matched that look in his eyes I'd seen before. I could feel it like a physical sensation, even through the pain. Very slowly, I brought my eyes up to his as his fingers stroked along my jaw. The touch was as frightening as it was confusing.

"How old are you?"

I swallowed. Why did it matter? "Nineteen."

"You're only a boy."

His hand moved up, to my cheek, and I jerked my head away from the touch. I couldn't help it. It was reflexes - that instinctive reaction to the knowledge that somehow, for some unknown reason and in some unknown way, I was being violated.

Dai laughed softly, and lowered his hand to his side again. I stayed still, barely breathing as his eyes raked me up and down. Finally, he turned and called to the guard. They spoke low, in a language I couldn't understand. A smirk, and a brief exchange, and Dai wandered out of the room.

I watched carefully as the guard turned to the cane, and took it in hand. "You lucky."

My stomach was tied in knots at the sight of that weapon. He wasn't done. It wasn't over yet.

"If I was lucky, I wouldn't be here," I managed weakly.

I watched for his response, to see if he really understood me. But he only smiled as he stood up straight and twisted his grip around the cane before stepping behind me.

"He like you," he said. "You lucky."

It was the last thing I heard before the whistling of the cane, and the cry through gritted teeth that I couldn't hold back.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

Face couldn't walk. His legs dragged in the mud as they carried him back to the cage, opened it, and threw him unceremoniously inside. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I kept my attention mostly on the guards and their half-English taunting. Face - black and blue and covered in lines of welts - curled into a ball and waited for them to leave. Finally, they got bored, and he pulled himself up, huddling against the bars. The fight in him - that determined "give me all you've got" attitude - was clearly gone. He looked small and terrified. It was everything I could do not to react.

Cruiser moved closer to him. The cage was so small that he didn't have far to go. "Hey, man."

It was the softest I'd ever heard Cruiser speak. He put a hand on Face's shoulder and waited until finally, Face looked up.

"You're okay."

It wasn't a question. None of them were okay in the least. It was a confirmation that he'd made it through the ordeal and was still alive. He was shaking with the memory of the pain if not the pain itself, but still alive.

Face shut his eyes hard, as if trying to block out the world. I understood, without a word being said. It wasn't the pain, the torture that was the hardest. It was the fear of it. Knowing that the enemy was in complete control. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before his blood joined the stains on that cane. And then there was the doubt. How much more could it really hurt? I already couldn't breathe without feeling the pain everywhere. No doubt Face was in the same boat.

Face took as deep a breath as he could, and opened his eyes slowly, locking on the man in front of him. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Cruiser."

Those words hurt to hear. And at the same time, I knew why they needed to be said. Face would bear his cross without a word if that's what it took to get out of this, but he didn't want to hurt his team any more than necessary in the process. Maybe more simply - he'd stay silent if that's what it took to follow my orders. There was an uncomfortable feeling in my gut that came with that thought.

Cruiser was quiet for a long moment. Emotional talks were not his specialty. "Fuck 'em all" had long gone away, and so had the notion that defiance was even an option. Now the only option was cautious acceptance and careful self-preservation.

Face shut his eyes again and bowed his head. He was quiet for a long moment before opening his eyes to stare at his bruised thighs - front, back, sides, it didn't matter. He was covered in bruises from head to toe. "You remember how... how Hannibal said we had to consider it a possibility that we might..."

I closed my eyes. Hard not to eavesdrop when they were two feet away. But this was clearly not my conversation.

"How that they could break us?"

Cruiser's voice was resigned and quiet. "Yeah, I do."

"You think they will?"

Cruiser was quiet for a moment. "We're gonna get through this, Face. It's just a matter of time."

"It's not getting through it I'm worried about. I came here to die. If this is how it happens, I'm okay with that."

"Stop. Don't let yourself fuckin' talk like that."

"I just don't want all of you to lose faith. No matter what happens with... If I'm not strong enough, it doesn't mean you're not."

"That's _enough_, Lieutenant." Cruiser's tone was not one to be argued with. "We all get through this. You don't get to be the exception to that. Whatever you have to do, you do it. Just like everyone else is going to."

I shut my eyes a little harder as that tense, winding knot in the pit of my stomach grew. Damn it, he was trying to prepare Cruiser. And it was very obvious to me that Cruiser was not willing to be prepared. This was not going to go smoothly. Unfortunately, it was actually better if it didn't. The reactions had to be genuine.

Damn it, I hated this plan.

"I want to get through it, Cruiser. But like I said... I don't know how much more I can take."

Cruiser softened his voice a notch as he finally answered. "Neither do I. And neither does Bulldog, or anyone else." I opened my eyes just enough to see Cruiser rest his head back against the bamboo as he let out a tired sigh. "Just one day at a time. That's all we can do."

**Los Angeles, 1974**

It had taken me a while to figure out how to get to the rooftop of the hotel. There were three stairwells, and only one of them went all the way up. But once I found it, I wasn't surprised to find Face there. He'd left, come back after dusk, slept, and probably would've been gone again this morning if I hadn't taken the car keys. Not that I thought it would really stop him. He could hotwire the damn thing if he wanted. It was more a form of communication from me to him; "Please don't do this."

Somehow - it was instinctive - I knew he'd be on the roof. Only three stories off the ground, it was still remote enough that he would feel safe. Alone. I wasn't sure how I knew that. But I knew it as clearly as I knew my own reactions, and what they would be.

The sun was hot enough to blister. Face was sitting against the wall in what little shade it provided with a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a near-empty bottle of cheap vodka. I frowned deeply at the sight. It wasn't that I didn't understand it; I did. Being with the team again was hard. The memories and emotions it brought back, long buried under thick layers of protective non-emotion, were agonizing. I didn't want to remember them; it was no surprise that Face didn't either. But this was bigger than what either one of us wanted, at this point. Like it or not, we _had _to be together. Without each other, none of us had a goddamn thing worth living for.

"Hiding in the furnace too cold for you?" I asked as I approached Face cautiously.

Face glared at the rooftop, keeping his head turned away as he answered offhandedly, "With all due respect, Sir, fuck you."

He lit another cigarette as I stood still, watching him. His posture, the humid heat, the vodka and cigarette... For just a moment, I was someplace far away. Someplace I never wanted to visit again. I'd seen this before.

"You know we need you on this, Face."

He didn't answer, just reached for the bottle and tipped it up. He was drowning in it.

"You're the only one of us who knows LA," I continued, as calmly as I could manage. "You're our best chance at making it here, and you know that."

"I'm not your fucking tour guide," Face growled, dropping the empty bottle on the ground beside him as he dragged hard on the cigarette.

"Are you in or out, Lieutenant?"

He growled audibly. "Don't fucking call me that!"

"Fine. Templeton. Answer the goddamn question."

"Fuck you." He gestured around him. "Does this look like the kind of place I would go if I wanted to have a conversation with you?"

He was angry. And drunk. I had no idea just how much he had changed, but I'd dealt with his anger before. It wasn't my first choice for a reaction, but at least it was something. From the moment we'd started seeing road signs for LA, Face had been finding new and creative ways of hiding inside of himself. It was like talking to someone who was pretending to be him, but had no connection to the real person.

"Sitting on a roof, downing cheap vodka, in brooding silence? No, it doesn't look like you want conversation. Looks like you want to crawl into a vat of self pity and hang the rest of us out to dry."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Face answered. "What's it gonna take to send you on your merry way?"

I chuckled in spite of myself. "More than you can give, kid."

"Fuck off."

I rolled the cigar to the corner of my mouth as I picked up the empty bottle of vodka. "Thought you gave up the hard stuff."

He didn't respond. Instead, he left the bottle with me as he stood and started to walk away.

"Running away isn't going to help, kid."

He stopped, but didn't turn back.

"We all ran for a year and a half. It didn't do any good then, and it sure as hell isn't going to help now."

"_We _didn't run," Face said, low and threatening as he turned and locked eyes with me, hard. "_You _ran."

The words were almost enough to catch me off guard. Even drunk - or maybe more _because _he was drunk - the tone was vicious and dangerous. I wasn't entirely sure what to do with it at first. I didn't have a comeback. I wasn't sure if he expected one or not.

His eyes narrowed in on me, like he could smell the blood in the water. "We would've followed you anywhere and you knew it. But you wanted to run away and hide."

"I wanted to do what was safest for this team. And I misjudged what that was."

"That's bullshit. You ran with your tail between your legs like a fucking coward."

The mocking words were calculated to inflict maximum damage. But I was still too shocked to really register them. "That's what you think?"

"It's what I _know_."

"And you really believe that?" I wasn't sure what else to say.

There was a sardonic little chuckle from him. "Don't forget, Hannibal, I was there when you decided to bail on us."

"And I explained to you exactly why we were -"

"You were full of shit," Face interrupted. "As much then as you are now. Thing is I always figured you'd be back when you needed something."

I could feel the slow start of the anger seeping in as the accusations slowly began to register. "What exactly is it that you think I need from you?"

"I figured at first you'd want money. You're shit out of luck on that by the way. I already spent everything I have and then some on you. But you don't even care. You need something more than that."

He leaned forward a little bit, voice dropping, like he was sharing a secret.

"You need people to follow you with unwavering loyalty. Because, after all what good is a full bird colonel - a natural born leader- with no men to lead?"

My jaw set as I stared at him, the anger coming in a rush. "You know what? I don't understand you, Face. You're bitter that I split us up and you're pissed off that I'm putting us back together. I didn't force you to leave Las Vegas. You can sit in that city and whore yourself out from now 'til kingdom come for all I care."

"Fuck you!"

He threw the bottle of vodka at me, and it shattered against the pavement as I stepped aside. Then he threw a hard left hook. It was a damn good thing I'd had been expecting it because if I hadn't turned my head, my nose would've been broken instead of my cheek bruised. The contact was enough to send Face's already volatile, raw emotions reeling out of control. He was out for blood.

Instinct made me move. I grabbed his forearm, stepped in and behind him, then put him in a full nelson lock with both arms trapped and my fingers laced behind his head. He struggled for a moment, and confirmed that yes, in fact, he was both drunk and incapacitated. Setting his jaw and staring at a blank spot on the rooftop, he went completely still, silent, and just waited.

I could feel the second he gave up, withdrew. He stopped struggling, but I could feel the muscles in the back of his neck and jaw tighten. He was shut down, completely. I let out the breath I had been holding and bowed my head forward until it was resting against the back of my hands.

Finally, I pulled my thoughts together, and spoke as quietly as I could. "I didn't run out on you, Face." I waited a second, trying to gauge if there was any part of the kid that would even hear what I had to say. "If I'd had any idea that you needed me, you know damn well I would've died for you."

I stopped. There was more, but it was pointless until Face was ready to hear it. And Face was gone. This was only a shell. It looked like him, but only skin deep. He stood still and silent, submitted, not struggling, and simply waited. Where there had been volatile emotion, now there was only cold nothingness. Even the hands pressing to what was clearly sunburned skin on the back of Face's neck elicited no response or recoil. His muscles unclenched as he retreated further and further into himself and forgot why he was tense, what there was to be angry about, what he felt and why. It all meant nothing right now.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**BA:**

Murdock had found someone to talk to. "Kama ti-yi-yi-yi..."

Lin Duc Co wasn't really supposed to be anywhere near the cage. But no one seemed to care that he was. The bread and water he'd slipped us had done more to keep us alive than probably anything else so far. The first time he'd passed it through the bars, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The Vietnamese did not live on a diet of bread; all we had eaten thus far was rice and maggots. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that freshly baked bread.

His English was broken, and for the most part, he talked to Murdock only in Vietnamese. Whatever they said, it was enough to make Murdock smile. And once he was smiling, it didn't take long before he was singing.

"Kama ti-yi-yi-yi..."

"Hey, Murdock?" Hannibal's voice was low and calm. Mellow. He put no effort into speaking, just kept very still so he could stay as cool as possible.

"Yeah?" It was good to see him smile, even though I knew there was nothing worth smiling about.

Hannibal took in a slow breath, and winced. "Ask him about the pit."

Murdock's smile faded. His eyes dropped, and he hesitated a moment before looking up again at the man crouched on the other side of the bamboo bars, concentrating on the words he was supposed to be singing.

I watched silently as Murdock asked the question, and Lin Duc Co's face fell. They talked quietly for a few minutes. Then, at the sound of a quick whistle, the little man was on his feet and running at a full sprint away from the cage. He'd been summoned.

Murdock sat back and tried hopelessly to get comfortable. "There's six men in the pit."

I could feel my eyes grow wide at that. "Six?" That was a big number for survivors who'd been here for any length of time.

Murdock nodded. "Three Americans."

"How long have they been here?" Hannibal asked.

"He doesn't know. But this is his second time visiting this camp, and they were here last time. There used to be nine of them."

"They haven't been brought out of that pit since we've been here," Hannibal observed.

"No. And they won't be." Murdock sighed. "Chow comes through here when Dai gets fresh meat, just to see if there's anyone particularly interesting to him. That pit is where the prisoners go who aren't of any interest. And where they stay until they die."

The smile on Murdock's face was long gone. The information was good to have, but there was another part of me that wished, more than anything, that he would smile again. With a sigh, I looked away from him, to Cruiser, who was hunched over with his eyes closed, beside Bulldog. He wasn't sleeping, I was pretty sure. But he was pretending. Face, on the other hand, didn't pretend. He sat still and silent, eyes open and watching, but saying nothing and set apart from the group. He didn't say a word. He'd barely spoken in all the time we'd been locked up in here. It was funny how that worked. Murdock's coping mechanism had him clinging to other people - anyone who might understand. Face's only way of handling things was to make himself completely alone.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

Face hadn't answered his phone. Hadn't answered the knock on his door. Hadn't responded to me calling him. He was definitely inside, but he wasn't talking. I'd gotten the spare key from Hannibal, but the hotel room door wasn't just locked, it was barricaded.

"Face, open the door, man."

If his room was like mine, there was no moveable furniture in the room except for the small, dining room style chair. He must have wedged it under the door handle. I tried a few more times to get him to answer, but he didn't. I sighed. I didn't want to break down this door. But he was making me do it like this.

"Face, I'm comin' in."

I stepped back and rammed my shoulder into the cheap hotel door. The wood gave way as the leg on the chair snapped. It gave me just enough room to reach in and grab the chair so I could toss it aside. I shut the door behind me as I stepped inside and looked around for Face.

The room smelled like cigarettes and vodka, and there was a trail of clothes on the floor to the bathroom. No Face. The bathroom door was closed, too. But it didn't lock. The door swung open easily. There was an empty bottle of vodka on its side on the wet floor, and a half-full bottle of dark red wine. A wine glass - where had he gotten a wine glass? - was on the edge of the tub, filled partway. Next to the glass was a pistol. And next to the pistol was Face's hand.

The sudden flash of fear had my stomach tightening up in knots. All the anger that had helped me bust my way through the door - all the frustration at this bickering Hannibal and Face were doing for no good reason whatsoever - was gone as I took in the picture. There was no blood, no crime committed here. But his hand was far too close to that gun for my comfort. His other hand was holding his forehead as he sat in the oversized tub that was filled nearly to overflowing, water still trickling in.

"Aww, man, Face..."

He hadn't looked up as the door opened. He didn't look up now, either. Carefully, I stepped into the room, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn't feel threatened. In addition to the fear and worry, there was a feeling of guilt that kept growing and growing. I should've looked for him sooner. I never should've left him in the first place. Should've followed him to the liquor store; maybe he wouldn't have bought so much. Should've stayed right there with him; maybe he and Hannibal wouldn't have gone on like cats and dogs. I still didn't know what they was fightin' over. Didn't really make much difference, though. Fact was, fightin' made bad things worse. They needed to get it all out and move on. This kind of thing just wasn't helping anyone.

I moved along the far wall until I was in Face's direct line of sight if he looked up. I made noise, to make sure I wouldn't startle him. But he didn't seem to even notice. Finally, I stopped, watching him carefully. "What's goin' on, Face?"

Face didn't look up. For a long time, he didn't speak. Had he even heard? Was he conscious? Maybe all the alcohol... No, he was sitting too straight to be unconscious. Finally, he spoke, so quietly it was barely audible.

"Sixteen months, three weeks, and four days," he whispered. "I actually kept track. Can you believe that?"

I was so relieved to hear the quiet voice, I could feel my knees giving way. Rather than fall, I slowly sat down, my back up against the sink cabinet, drawing my knees up when I reached the floor. I realized I'd been holding my breath, and let it out with a deep sigh.

"I kept track, too," I admitted, lowering my eyes.

"How did you do it?" I felt his gaze on me, and looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and out of focus. "How did you...? How do you keep from hating him?"

"Hannibal?"

He nodded slowly.

I sighed. I had nothing to say that was going to make this better. Hannibal had already given his apology, as best he could, for splitting us up. Yeah, words were cheap. But there wasn't much more he could do.

"I sold my soul," Face whispered, hiding his eyes with his hand as he choked on the words. "Every night... Everything I did..."

"You ain't the only one."

"And it was all for nothing."

"You talkin' about the money?" My brow furrowed as I considered that. I had more than enough money to support all three of us for a long time. I sure hoped he wasn't like this because of money, of all ungodly things.

"I don't know what I was expecting," he slurred. I could hear the alcohol in the way he barely formed the words, the way he stumbled over them. "I never actually thought about what it was going to be like after..."

He trailed off. I frowned as I studied him. "Face..."

Man, what was I doing? I was awful at this stuff. But I had no choice. I couldn't mess it up again. Face was hurt bad, and I knew I better figure out real quick what to do 'cause that boy needed something and I was the only one around. No way I was running away from this.

"I spent so long trying to break from this," Face continued in a whisper. "Trying to forget everything I was. I don't want to go back to it. It's not even real. And yet I'm here at this one place... the one place where it all comes together, where it all started. And I don't want to be here."

I didn't know what to say. But he was talking more, so I let him talk.

"I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't even know what I am. Jesus, I can't even tell you how many people I've been in the past sixteen months. But none of them are this. I left this... so far behind. I don't... I can't..." His voice cracked, and he pressed his hand down over his eyes. "Jesus, I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this. And I don't want to go back to Vegas and _wait_ for this to happen, either. It's like... a choice between purgatory and hell. It's not... I just can't do it. I'm not... I can't be that person I was. Not in Vietnam, not before... And you can't understand that. And I can't explain it."

His hand was closing around the gun. Without interrupting him, I reached out and closed my hand around his. He shook as he leaned forward, sloshing the water out of the tub as he curled in on himself and sobbed. "I just don't want to do this. I can't. I'm not who you think I am. There's nothing left, damn it. I'm nothing."

I moved in as close as the tub would let me and sat up on my knees. I didn't care about getting wet. I was glad when Face turned toward me, let go of the gun, and put both arms around me, shaking and sobbing. The sheer amount of feeling that hit me just then was more than I could've prepared for. I'd seen Face break, just the same way he'd seen me. But I'd never seen him cry so hard, from that place that was so far down deep inside of him. It was something that no man did by choice, and to this day, the only other person I had seen mourn so hard was Hannibal, on the floor of the chopper, with Murdock screaming at his feet.

There was nothing I could say. But there were words coming out of my mouth just the same. "Whoever you are, we here." I held him tight. The walls of this little room felt like they were closing in, making it so hard to breathe. "I got ya."

"I want to go home, damn it," Face sobbed. "And I don't even know where home is anymore."

I closed my eyes against the tears that were burning there and just held him. There was nothing else I could do. My chest hurt at the sound of those words, like being kicked. Hard.

"You home, Face," I said quietly. "Your home's right here."

It was hard to talk. My throat was tight. Everything I knew about being tough meant nothing as those tears started to roll down my own cheeks. All that mattered was easing Face's pain. I felt no shame for the tears. And for the first time in years, I prayed for mercy as I cried there on that bathroom floor. Not for my sake, but for Face's.

Another day was over. God help us to survive the next one.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**FACE:**

My body still hurt from the last time I was in this room. The welts, combined with the cramps and stiffness and the hunger pains and the sweltering heat, made me - very simply - the most miserable I had ever been. Weakened by hunger and thirst and pain and exhaustion, I didn't mind at all when the two guards threw me onto my knees on the bamboo floor. I couldn't stand long anyways. And I didn't want to.

There was only one man in the room. Only Thanh Dai. No General Chow. He must have been in the vehicle that had left in the early morning hours. I almost breathed a sigh of relief at that.

Dai stood over me for a moment, watching in silence. Keeping my head lowered, I tried to focus my attention on him as I braced myself forward on my arms, dizzy.

"So Lieutenant Templeton Peck, have you had time enough to consider the options I gave you?" Dai's voice was calm and his boots echoed softly on the floor as he began a slow circle around me. "There is no reason for you to experience any more unpleasantness."  
I had to work my jaw back and forth a few times before I was able to speak. When I finally did manage words, they were choked and so raspy, they barely sounded like words at all.

"Templeton Peck, Lieutenant. 522705444."  
"Oh, come now. There is no need for such a show of defiance."

Dai was back in my line of sight, looking at me with amusement and something else - something that made me instinctively want to pull away from him. But I was in no shape to either pull away or figure out what it was about that look that made me so uncomfortable. Instead, I stored the instinct away, not sure if I would live long enough to figure out how to use it to my benefit.

Dai turned his back to me and walked to the far wall. I fought back the raising panic as he neared the canes. I knew what came next - at least I thought I did. But instead of reaching for one of the canes, Dai picked up a small wooden bowl from on top of a small stool in the corner.

"Your sound as if talking is difficult. Perhaps this will help?"

He stopped a few feet in front of me and crouched down, setting the bowl on the floor. He eyes stayed on mine as he slid the bowl towards me. I hesitated for a long moment. It was full of what looked like water.  
I knew that gestures of kindness from my captors were really anything but. However, at the moment, it was all I could do not to dive for the bowl. It could be poison for all I knew. But it was liquid. And I was so thirsty, I was halfway to delirium. After only a brief pause, I couldn't resist it anymore. It was survival instinct, base and crude. There was no thought of pride or consequence or greater good. I took the bowl, tipped it up, and drained it so fast I nearly choked. It was the first clean water I'd had in days.

It wasn't until I lowered the bowl and took several deep breaths that Dai moved. Cautiously, he reached out, eyes locked on mine. When Dai's fingers brushed the back of my hand, he left them there. That look was back.

"I have plenty more water, Lieutenant Templeton Peck."

Slowly, he took the bowl from my hands. I didn't break his gaze, not even as he took the bowl and stood up. He was in no great hurry as strolled away. Once again, I felt a sense of fear and confusion as Dai passed within inches of those canes. But once again, he passed them by. Setting the empty bowl on the stool he turned and faced me once again

I knew better than to talk to him. But the promise of more water was ringing in my ears. I'd die before I gave him any sensitive information, and I was very good about watching my words. After a long hesitation, I finally sat back, pulling my knees in front of me, and looked up at him.

Dai was staring at me again. For a second, there was a heat in his look - a heat that had nothing to do with anger. It made my weakened muscles tense, involuntarily. Was I reading that right?

"I have to admit, you and your friends seem rather odd to me. So many Americans on one team... This is unusual."  
He came a few steps closer, watching me carefully. I wasn't comfortable; I didn't pretend to be. I didn't have anything to say to him, either. But I wasn't reverting to name, rank, and serial number again. Not just yet.

"I have heard of an American plane that went down near here. I thought perhaps that is how you came to be here. But that isn't right, is it?"

I could feel his eyes on me, watching and trying to read any reaction. I gave him nothing. I was very careful to give him nothing.

"But the helicopter that went down and then was destroyed. That, I think, may be where your unique group came from. Am I correct?"  
I watched him, watching me. He couldn't possibly expect me to answer that. Not that it mattered much. Whether we'd ended up here because of a plane crash, a chopper crash, or a broken down jeep, it didn't matter much. We were here. To stay.

"Why did you join the Army, Lieutenant Templeton Peck?"

I wasn't expecting the abrupt change in topics. It took me a second to process the question. I stared at him for a moment, and then slowly lowered my eyes and said quietly, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."  
"Going away to far off land to fight in an unjust conflict? Where is this place you came from that made it seem like a good idea?"  
I eyed him for a long moment. There was no mockery in his tone, and this discussion was far from international secrets. Maybe it was best that I kept it that way. If I could pacify him with other topics, maybe he'd leave the really important stuff alone. Keeping my voice low and quiet, I told him, "Los Angeles, California."  
"California? I have heard of that place. Sunshine and movie stars. Your propaganda makes it sound like paradise. Why leave all of that, Lieutenant Templeton Peck?"

Staring at the floor, my eyes slipped out of focus, not seeing. "It may be paradise compared to this place. But there was nothing there for me."  
"Nothing? What of your family? They must have wanted you to stay and be the dutiful son."

Dai sounded as if nothing interested him more than my personal history. I didn't want to talk about this. But it was much safer than what he could be asking, and what he could be doing.

"I have no family."

That look flashed in his eyes again. Tilting his head to the side he studied me. Maybe he was trying to see if I was telling the truth. But it felt like more than that.

"I find it hard to believe that someone who looks like you has no one waiting for them. A woman perhaps?"  
"No. No one."  
His eyes locked on to mine, I could almost see the gears in his mind spinning and shifting. Something I had said had him calculating. Dai turned away and went back for the bowl. Then he was calling - I assumed for the guards. Two of them entered and there was a conversation in Vietnamese that I had no hope of understanding. I noticed one of the guards glance at me, out of the corner of his eye. His look made my skin crawl. There was more than just the usual level of dislike I had come to expect. It was a smug contempt in that fleeting look. Before I could figure out what was going on, the guards left with the bowl.

"You seem very young for such a rank. How old are you?" Dai's attention was back on me.  
I kept my eyes down. "Nineteen."  
"Nineteen. That is very young, just a boy. Not even old enough to vote in your country, yet they send you here to die."

I wasn't about to correct him on the voting age.

"Your democracy does not make much sense, does it?"  
"I volunteered to come here and die." I could hear the flat tone in my own voice.

There was a long silence and a puzzled look from Dai. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, almost soft. "Young, handsome, living in paradise and yet you wanted to die." He shook his head disapprovingly.

The sound of the door opening let me know the guards were back. They handed Dai the bowl and then left again.

Holding the bowl in one hand, Dai dipped his fingers into the water and then held them up watching the drops fall down. "Do you still wish to die, Templeton Peck?"  
I raised my eyes, looking straight into his and not at the water. "I never wanted to die. I wanted to get out of LA and come to Vietnam. There's a difference."  
"So you believed you would leave my country alive? Or is it that you do not care?"  
"It wasn't really a factor." I was almost shocked by the honesty. Why was I telling him this?

"That is a rather large factor to leave out of your decision to join a fighting unit in the Army." He paused, then asked, "Tell me, if you didn't come here to die, why did you come?"

I kept my expression as impassive as I could. "No matter how many times I say this, it's going to sound the same. I wanted out of LA. The Army gave me a way out. It was an acceptable risk. And I don't regret it the way that I would regret _not_ doing it if I was sitting in Los Angeles right now."

Dai just looked at me with that expression that I couldn't identify. The silence stretched on until finally he slid the bowl in front of me. I took the bowl as soon as it was in reach, and drained it again. As I set it down, I looked back up at him. Dai's hand went under my chin and he pushed my head back. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable.

"It is strange to say the path that led you to being a prisoner is still preferable to the path not taken."  
"You can kill me or you can keep me alive," I answered him. "But either way, I've lived more for being here than I could've if I'd stayed in LA."  
Those beetle black eyes bore into mine for several long second before he spoke again, softly. "If I wanted to kill you, I would not be wasting clean water on you."

Dai's hand moved from under my chin and he brushed my hair back from my eyes, almost gently. Before I could react, he stepped back and called again for the guards. I couldn't understand what was said. All I knew was that when they pulled me to my feet, I was turned towards the door and not to the hooks in the ceiling. It took me a few moments to process what was happening. There was no beating this time. Was this kindness? Doubtful. But whatever it was, it might be able to be exploited.

"Wait." I locked my knees, digging my heels in as they shoved me toward the door. The guards paused, and I turned back and looked at Dai.

He raised a brow, amused by my sudden assertion. But he didn't speak.

"My team," I said quietly. "We're _all_ going to die if we don't get water." I made sure the look was pleading - appealing to the considerate and generous side that he seemed to be showing right now. However fake it was, maybe it could keep us alive for just a few more days. I would do anything for that, for them, including beg. Letting my head drop forward, I looked at Dai through lowered lashes, as I pleaded quietly.

"Please."

There was complete silence that seemed to last an eternity. Dai's eyes were on me again. The guards were waiting to see what he would do, just like I was. With three slow, deliberate steps forward Dai came so close to me that I could see him run his tongue over his teeth.

"You have pleased me today with your reasonable behavior." His eyes raked me up and down, and then he looked back in my eyes. He voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. Despite the fact he was only inches from me. "You will have your reward."

I let out the breath I had been holding, offering a soft, "Thank you."

Dai kept watching me even when he spoke in Vietnamese to the guards. Then without warning, he suddenly turned and walked away from me. "We will talk again soon, Templeton Peck"  
I was glad. Relieved, even. There was no beating and the team would have fresh water for the first time in days. So why, at the same time, did I feel so... wrong?

**Los Angeles, 1974**

Breathe. There was no air in my lungs.

Frantically, I struggled until I was sitting upright. I felt like I was in a straightjacket with the way my arms were tangled in the blankets. My legs were no freer; I'd wound the sheet around me every which way during the course of the nightmare. There was sweat pouring down my face, the back of my neck, my chest. It dripped into my eyes, and I shut them hard to block it out.

The desperate gasps for air were deafening in the silent room. My hands were shaking around the pistol I was gripping tightly. That wasn't just sweat on my face, I realized. There were tears, too. I turned and rolled off the side of the bed, dragging the blankets with me as I moved into the corner and hid. There was no reason for it - just something purely instinctive.

The bathroom light had gone out. But the morning sun was already filtering in. Hugging my knees close to my chest, I heard a few quiet sobs that I realized had to be coming from me. _Pull it together, Face_.

Face. God, it had been so long since anyone had called me that. Even longer than it had been since the last time I'd had a dream so vivid. That hadn't been an accident; I'd made a point of avoiding anything or anyone that might bring that time of my life into my thoughts. In my sixteen months of masquerading as a French-born, stateside educated pleasure seeker, with no opinions or affiliation with the war, I had come to embrace that as reality. I was that person. I was no soldier. The memories of that soldier were buried deep and never accessed. So deep, I'd almost forgotten they were there. Why the hell were they coming up now?

That wasn't a hard question to answer. In fact, the answer was obvious. Living a lie was easy when the only people I'd had to convince were blank slates, with no information about my past. But Hannibal and BA were different. They _knew_. And seeing them made me know. It made me remember what I was, what I'd done, what I'd seen.

I'd waited for Hannibal. I thought it would be a relief to see him. But now, I just wanted to be alone, with my memories and my pain. And now, it seemed there was no place to hide.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**HANNIBAL:**

When the sun finally came up, I was more relieved to see it than I remembered being in a long time. This had definitely been on the list of the top five longest nights of my life. I showered quickly, dressed, and walked to the room next door. I suspected Face was already awake, especially if his night had been anything like BA's and mine. What I wasn't sure of was whether or not he'd talk to me. But for my part, the only thing I could do was keep moving. If he needed me to slow down, he'd have to ask.

He was awake. He answered the door almost before I'd finished knocking, with his gun behind his back.

"Morning, Face."

"Hi."

He stepped back and tucked his pistol away as I walked into the room, closing the door behind me. I took one look at the dark rings under his eyes and knew right away that his night had been just as long as mine.

"You get any sleep?"

"A little."

The short answers were enough to tell me that I wasn't going to get much out of him this morning. "There's a few things I need you to do, Lieutenant. So that we can get situated here."

Face walked over to the window, looking out at the sky for a second. "Stop calling me that."

"Sorry, kid. Old habits die hard."

"I'm not your kid, either."

Leaning his hip against the windowsill, he folded his arms and turned back to look at me, watching with a blank expression.  
"We're going to need some identification," I continued. "If we're going to be re-integrated into society, we're going to have to play their game."  
There was a slight hesitation before Face answered me, but when he spoke it was that same flat tone that seemed to be the only thing I heard from him anymore. "Right. That will take money. And I'm currently tapped out."

He turned his head and looked back out the window.  
"BA says he has money."  
He was listening. I knew he wouldn't outright ignore me. But he didn't answer. He was disinterested in hearing any of this.

"We also need to start thinking of a more permanent housing solution. Preferably one where we can set up some basic security measures."

"Secure. Right." Face dropped his eyes and pushed off the window sill, wandering over to the dresser.  
"We can stay here again tonight. But the sooner we get settled in, the sooner we'll all be able to get a good night's sleep."  
He didn't answer me right away. The top drawer of the dresser squeaked in protest as he pulled it open, just far enough to reach in and pull out a bottle of that damned vodka. Walking back to the window, he took a long drink.

"We have the rooms for a week," he said.

"That's fine." I watched him carefully as he took another drink. It was only 8 a.m. I bit my tongue. "We can take our time. But you grew up here. I want you to see if the areas are still the way you remember them. I don't want any surprises."

I held his gaze calmly. I wasn't about to tell him that a much bigger reason for wanting us in an apartment was so that I could keep an eye on him. That look had been in his eyes since we'd started heading in this direction - that dark depression. It was dangerous. And if I knew Face, it would lock him away from the rest of us until he self-destructed. I didn't want that.

"Face, are you okay?"  
There was a dry, humorless laugh from him and another drink before he dropped his eyes to the bottle in his hand. "You don't have to worry, I'm not going to kill anyone." That fact that he said that with no more emotion than a piece of furniture didn't set my mind at ease.  
"That isn't what I'm worried about."  
He looked at me, giving away nothing with those empty eyes. "You didn't worry about me for sixteen months. You don't need to start now."  
The words were like a blow. But I deserved them. I took them without flinching, and glanced briefly at the clock on the bedside table. My voice echoed the same flat tone his had. "I'm going to see Murdock today." I looked back up, directly at Face. "Would you care to come?"  
I didn't have to see his reaction, I could feel him tense at that. His eyes cut away from me and he turned back to the window. "No. I have a lot to do." There was new tension in his shoulders, but his voice was just as dead as before.  
I hesitated for a long moment, then turned back toward the door. "Have a good day, Lieutenant. Make sure you eat something with that vodka this morning." Without another word, I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. I could spend the entire day trying to get him to level with me, and he wouldn't do it until he was damn good and ready. And I had other things to think about. I had to check on Murdock.

center*X*X*X*/center

It was night when the cage opened and the man was shoved inside. Startled, confused, and now even more cramped, we struggled to find a way to accommodate him. Bulldog woke up screaming as his leg was moved. Boston and Cruiser quickly moved into the best position they could to block him as we tried to figure out what the hell was happening. Then the guards left, and in the darkness, there was suddenly a stranger in our midst.

It took several minutes to get Bulldog calmed again. "Calm" wasn't really the word. The man was in far too much pain to be calm. When he quieted, it was because he had no more strength left to scream.

"Welcome to Hotel California," Cruiser said dryly.

The man was emaciated, with sunken eyes and matted hair. But that was all I could really tell in the darkness. His voice was scratchy when he tried to respond. "You're... Americans."

BA and Murdock were watching silently. Still leaning against one another, they reminded me of the crows from the Saturday morning cartoon, Heckle and Jeckle. Face, Boston, and Wo had all closed their eyes again, exhaustion outweighing the interest. But I knew they were all listening.

"Better than just American," Murdock choked out, his voice dry and cracked. "I'm Texan."

The newcomer stared at him for a moment. "Texan. Jesus, been a long time..." He took in a ragged breath and coughed. "Who's the SRO here?"

"That would be me," I answered, eyeing him. "Captain John Smith."

"Tommy Angel. Lieutenant, Navy."

"Pleasure to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances." I made no effort to move, to shake his hand. There was no point in formalities here.

"How long have you guys been here?" He gave a brief laugh at his own question. "Not that there's any way to really measure that."

I couldn't see his face, but the tone of his voice was one I'd heard before. Hope and relief. Under other circumstances, there may have been tears of joy. He wasn't alone, wasn't forgotten. Someone else - another American - knew he was alive. Of course, it wasn't ideal that the saving party were also prisoners of war.

"We've been here for about ohhh... forever."

I smiled faintly. Leave it to Murdock to keep the conversation light, in spite of the situation. He wasn't nearly as familiar with the expressions and interactions of rescued POWs, but he seemed to know enough to realize that the lines between "us" and "them" were very clearly drawn here. And Tommy, regardless of anything else he might be in the world out there, was one of "us" while he was in here.

"What unit are you guys with?" Tommy asked. "How did you get caught?" He gave a slight chuckle. "Sorry. I'm bombarding you with questions. It's just that... it's been a while. A long while. I was beginning to wonder if... if we were even still here. Or if maybe they pulled out and left us here. It's been discussed, you know. And it's so hard to tell how much of what Dai says is true."

"What do you know about this place?" Cruiser asked flatly.

"Besides the fact that the room service needs work," Murdock added. I caught the dim reflection of his smile. "Though I guess it's not bad once you get used to the hunger and the beatings."

"The hunger isn't bad while Chow is here," Angel said. "His cook, Lin Duc Co, will give you extra bread."

"Yes, we found that out," Murdock answered. "If you ever wanna smile, try getting him to sing some old Western songs."

"Western songs?"

Murdock smiled, but he didn't have the energy for a demonstration.

"What else do you know?" Cruiser asked again.

Angel took a deep breath. "Dai is fairly powerless. He was sent here because of some kind of debt owed to someone in his family. Given his own little camp. But Chow really calls the shots. He spends more time here than any of the other camps. Dai sometimes acts like... Well, he reminds me of a kid who wants attention. Anything he has to do to get it. He'll swing from being incredibly brutal to downright humanitarian, just to see what gets the better response."

"How long have you been here?" Murdock asked.

Angel took a slow, deep breath. "I flew off a carrier on 7 June, 1969. That's the last date I know."

"Flew?" Murdock's interest was piqued.

"Yes," Angel answered quietly. "And I would prefer if they didn't know that. Being a pilot in a POW camp is..."

He trailed off. He didn't need to finish. We all knew full well the dangers a pilot faced in a POW camp. "What did you fly?"

I closed my eyes as I listened to the quiet conversation. Murdock could talk for hours about planes and helicopters and hang gliders and damn near anything else that flew. The camaraderie was instant, maybe even instinctive. It didn't matter that they were from different branches. Any rivalry was lost in the commonality they shared.

"Captain Smith?"

I didn't realize I was dozing until I was suddenly snapped awake by the unfamiliar voice. Eyes open, I stared into the darkness, waiting for the shadows to take shape.

"There's five other men in that pit," Angel said quietly. "They'll want to know... is anyone looking for us?"

In the darkness, I could barely see his outline. But I could hear the pleading in his voice. I knew it would be reflected on his face. "I don't know," I answered honestly.

"What about you? Were you..." He hesitated, as if he didn't want to speak the words. He didn't want to take the chance that when he spoke them, all his hopes would be put to death. "What were you doing out here?"

I hesitated for a long moment. I wasn't about to lie to him, but there wasn't much I could tell him, either. At least, not much that wouldn't crush him. "We were on patrol, Lieutenant," I said quietly. "And we were nowhere particularly near here."

"But they'll come find you, right? I mean, you're a captain. They won't just let you..."

He trailed off, but again there was nothing for me to say. The fact of the matter was, my rank was even more a reason to come looking for me than he knew. But whether or not they looked, the chances of them finding us were slim. We had one option for getting out of here, and it was to make our own way out. And that was exactly what we would do.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**BA:**

Hannibal had gone to talk to Face. That wouldn't take long. Face wasn't in any type of mood to talk. He would keep pulling away until he didn't have anywhere to go. If we were lucky, we would be there when he reached the edge. If we were even luckier, he'd want us there and let us talk him down.

It was less than ten minutes before I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. My gun was out and in my hand without thinking. When I saw it was Hannibal, I set the pistol on the table. I didn't ask how his meeting with Face went. I didn't need to. I could see it on his face when he closed the door behind him.

"Face is going to take care of getting us some IDs," he said. "We need to get rid of that car before it's reported stolen. Call around and see what you can get for a vehicle. Preferably something you can pay cash, no questions asked."

"Fine."

Getting a car wouldn't be difficult. Money was one thing I had plenty of, but I didn't want it. I didn't even want to think about it. Never really cared about the money. For a long time, it was just something I needed to survive. Then it was something that would make Mama's life easier when someone finally killed me. Now it was just a reminder of everything I lost and sold along the way - all just missing pieces of me. If I didn't still need it to survive, I'd probably have myself a nice big bonfire just to watch it burn.

Hannibal paused as he glanced over at me, but I could tell he was still deep in thought, not really engaged in what he was saying. But he kept talking, just the same.

"I'll leave it to you to decide what we need. As long as it runs, and they'll take cash without an ID, that's all I care about."

"I got an ID."

"Use it if you have to, but I'd rather there be no ties between you here and you in Chicago."

I shrugged. "Not like it matters."

"It does matter. Or, at least, it could."

"Why?"

He turned and looked straight at me. There was nothing judgmental in his gaze. But it was completely serious. "If we _are _caught, it's better that they not be able to link up two different sets of crimes."

I could tell by that look that he knew just how much of my soul I sold. At the same time, I knew by the lack of judgment that he didn't care. I don't know why I was surprised by that. Of course he'd see it. And if he had anything to say about it, he would've already said it.

Never was good at words, and I had forgotten what it was like not to need them. Forgot what it was like to just look share a look and know everything that needed to be said. But my eyes held Hannibal's and that silent understanding was there. It went both ways. He didn't care what I'd done; I didn't give damn where he'd been. He would make the plan and I would follow it. I would do what he asked and trust him to watch out for us.

Finally, I broke the look with a nod of understanding. "Gonna take me a little time to find somewhere to dump the car. Bad neighborhood where the chop will keep the law from finding it."

"How long do you need?"

"Couplea hours at least."

"That's fine. But I need you to drop me off at the VA hospital first."

I closed my eyes as those words hit me like a blow to the chest. But I had nothing to say to that. I was just glad he wasn't asking me to go along.

**Vietnam, 1970**

Something about this guy - this new guy they threw in on top of us in the middle of the night - just didn't set right with me. He didn't have that waiting to die look like the ones who gave up had. The ones like Bulldog. Now that the sun was up, and I could get a better look at him, what I could see said he wasn't lying. He was starved half to death, matted hair and dirty beard, scars where they'd broken his skin with that cane. Old scars - no fresh blood. That wasn't surprising since he'd been in that pit. If he was down there, they were done with him. He was worthless. Trash. My jaw clenched tightly at that thought.

It was something about the look in his eyes that was wrong. There was fear there. And with all that his body had to show for what he'd been through, I couldn't imagine what on earth he had to be afraid of. Being a POW in Charlie's house was a crash course in learning to face fear. It was beaten, tortured, and starved out of you every day. By the time you'd worn out your usefulness to them, you really shouldn't have any left.

I shifted a little, trying to ease the burning in my shoulder. It didn't help. Nothing helped. The pain was constant, and it was always a question of which place, which position, which wound hurt worst. That was the one that was relieved, at the expense of the others. Ironically, the inability to stretch in the tiny, cramped cage was almost as painful as the welts on my back and chest.

Maybe there wasn't anything wrong with Tommy Angel. Maybe I was just miserable, sore and tired in ways I never knew existed. I didn't like him, but there was really nothing he'd said, specifically, that made me feel that way. We were the first Americans he'd seen in a very long time. I knew from the POW snatches we'd pulled off thus far what the first questions would be. Who are you, who are you with, what day is it, who's in charge. Those were basically the questions he'd asked. There was nothing unusual about that.

Behind me, Murdock stirred a little, then settled again. He had been stuck to me for days, sleeping on and off, babbling and smiling, trying to cope. It should have bothered me, but it didn't. Which just made things more irritating. I wasn't doing so well in the "ways to cope" department.

Tommy was awake. Everyone else's eyes were closed, though I couldn't imagine they had all managed to actually find sleep. With a deep, heartfelt sigh, I hissed to get his attention, and held eye contact as he looked up at me in surprise.

"What happened to you?" I asked, ignoring that uneasy feeling in my stomach. Guy looked like he had been through hell. Least I could do was give him a chance.

"Happened?"

"How'd you get taken?"

He watched me silently for a long moment, then lowered his eyes as he sighed at the memory. "Shot down."

"Where at?"

"We were doing a run, right along the DMZ... Mortar round, and I had to bail. Next thing I know, there's a bunch of farmers with guns. They held me 'til the NVA came and got me." He shut his eyes and shook his head as his voice lowered to a whisper. "Seems like so long ago."

"How long it been?"

"It was 7 June, 1969 when I got shot down." He paused. "Murdock says that was over a year ago."

That mean, cold part of me - the part that helped me earn my nickname - had to wonder just why a man who had faced this hell for a year was still afraid. How was he feeling anything at all? Then again, who was I to say anything about it? Everyone was different. If he'd found a way to keep himself intact, good for him.

"What about the other guys?"

I regretted the question as soon as it came out of my mouth. I didn't want to know the answer to that. I didn't even want to think about it. There was nothing I could do about the other guys in that pit. There was nothing I could do about Tommy, or any of us. The only good thing I knew was when Hannibal came up with a plan, they was coming with us.

"Some of the guys down there," Tommy's eyes drifted to the pit, "have been there for two, three years."

It was like a sledgehammer hitting my chest. Without thinking, I was looking at that pit. Years in that hole? I couldn't even begin to think what that was like. And I hoped to God I never would. I pushed the thought out of my head.

"How come they put you in here?"

He gave a slight, sad smile. "How come they do anything they do? I learned a long time ago not to ask questions."

I frowned. After a year here, a year of watching them, he should have _some _idea of what motivated them. Even I had figured out some things about my captors. He should have an idea why they'd showed him this sudden act of... what? Kindness? No, it wasn't kindness, but it was something strange. They had a motive.

But the way he said it, so resigned, made it impossible to snap back at him. Chances were pretty good they'd put him in here to get information out of us. But he wasn't prying, or asking about our escape plans. He wasn't asking anything of significance, really.

"You got family back home?" he asked quietly.

From the look on his face, I could tell he was searching for something comfortable, something comforting, to talk about. I nodded in answer to his question, but I couldn't bring myself to say who. I didn't want Mama anywhere near this place. Didn't even want to mention her name.

"What about you?" Had they told Mama yet? I pushed the thought away, but it came right back. Did she think he was dead?

"Just my dad," Tommy answered.

I winced. There was something else I didn't want to think about.

"Had a girlfriend, too, but I'm sure she's long gone. All the guys were getting 'Dear John' letters even before I ended up here."

"Dear John" letters were more common than head lice in Vietnam. There was too much distance and too much unknown when you were a world away.

"Sorry man," I offered, as sincerely as I could. "When we get out of here, you'll find a new woman."

He laughed tightly, then drew his eyes up to mine. But anything that was mocking in his expression and tone faded into a serious, pleading look. "You really believe that?"

"Yeah." There was no doubt in my voice. The fact we would get out of here was something that I hung on to. It was all I had, and I believed in it with unwavering, unquestioning trust. If I didn't think we would find a way home, there would be no way I could face every mind-numbing, backbreaking day. We would get out, we had to.

Tommy stared at me for a long moment, then looked away. "I used to believe that. I guess somewhere along the way, I realized the only way guys were staying alive around here is by letting go of all that. The ones who hold onto it too tight... they're all dead now."

I shrugged at that. I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a warning or what, but I didn't care to hear it. "Worse things than being dead," I reminded him.

He didn't answer. My eyes drifted to Bulldog. Dying would be a relief for him. Did God know that? I had to believe He had a plan. And hopefully He would share it with Hannibal real soon and get us the hell out of here.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**HANNIBAL:**

"What did you say your name was, again?"

"Billy Joe Thompson." I smiled. The name matched thick Texan accent, the cowboy boots, and the oversized hat. "I'm an old friend of the family."

"Well, I'll let Mr. Murdock know that you're here," the orderly offered, escorting me through the bare white halls. "He doesn't get too many visitors. And he doesn't like to come out of his room. Are you comfortable with talking to him inside?"

"Sure I am." I frowned. "He ain't gotten dangerous, is he?"

"No, no, nothing like that." The orderly smiled reassuringly. "He's just sort of... unpredictable, sometimes. But the nurse's station is just down the hall and they'll be able to hear you if you need anything. I'll leave the door unlocked while you're in there."

"Much obliged, son," I gave him a grin.

The young man stopped at a door on the left and peeked in through a slat at eye level. "Mr. Murdock? You have a visitor." He scanned the room, but didn't immediately see his patient. "Mr. Murdock?"

Suddenly, Murdock was right on the other side of the door, eye to eye with the orderly. Startled, the young man jumped back. "Is it a human visitor?" Murdock's voice sounded distorted, like a warped record.

"It is, yes," the orderly answered. He opened the door as Murdock stepped back. "He says he's a friend of the family."

"I have no friends!" Murdock shouted, projecting his voice as if he were on a stage. "I have no family! There is only me! The last of my kind!"

I stepped into the doorway and leaned on the frame. "No, I reckon you still got a few friends out here."

The recognition was instant. I could see it in his eyes, and the shocked expression on his face. "Co-" He caught the address before it escaped, and his eyes flickered to the orderly as he folded his hands in front of him and lowered his head. In his best "sane voice" he uttered a quiet, "Could we please be alone for a moment?"

The orderly smiled. "Sure thing, Mr. Murdock." Then he glanced back at me. "If you need anything..."

I nodded. "Thank you kindly, son."

The young man turned and left. Instead of closing the door all the way, he left it open a crack.

Murdock kept his head down, wringing his hands. "What, uh... What're you doin' here, Colonel?" he asked quietly. "I uh..." He looked up, eyes locked on the older man. "I heard you was... uh... in jail and then uh... then you weren't."

"Yeah, that's right." I let the phony accent drop, and took a few steps into the room. "The nurses say you're doing well."

Murdock shrugged, head still down. "I got good days and bad days."

"Is today a good day or a bad day?"

Slowly, Murdock looked up, scrutinizing me carefully. "Well, that depends on what you're here for."

"I just came to see how you were holding up, Captain."

"Yeah, you know, the MPs come here, too. To see how I'm holding up."

I chuckled as I removed my hat and set it on the dresser. "I'm sure they have other interests in mind, too." I looked back up, locking eyes with him. "I don't."

He watched me carefully, but said nothing.

"So how's therapy going, Murdock?"

"Oh, fine," he answered. "It's uh..." He shifted, uncomfortably. "Well, it's going."

Murdock looked away again, and finally sat down on the edge of the bed. "How's Face?" he asked. "And BA? And Cruiser?"

"Fine," I answered. "Well, Face and BA, at least. I'm not sure where Cruiser is."

"You all need to be careful. They got some colonel lookin' for you."

"Lynch," I couldn't help the broad smile. "We've met."

"He thinks I know where you're hiding."

"Do you want to know where we're hiding?"

Murdock glanced up, wary of those words. "You'd have to be a fool to tell a crazy man that."

"I've been a fool before. And crazy or not, you're still part of my unit."

Murdock stared at him for a long moment, then lowered his head again. "War's over, Colonel," he said softly. "We lost."

I smiled at the old saying. "Yeah, so I heard."

Silence descended on the room, and finally I took a deep breath. "Listen, I know I could go to the doctors and find out everything they have to say about your condition. But I want to hear it from you."

"Hear what from me?" Murdock glanced at me quickly, then looked away.

"They say you'll never fly again. Do you believe that?"

Looking at the floor Murdock swallowed hard. "They took my wings."

The pain and loss in his softly spoken words was so real, so tangible, it was almost breath taking in its intensity.

"I'll never get them back. I couldn't get a job parking cars at the airport. Not now. This is kind of a..." He hesitated, and raised his eyes, keeping his head down. "Kind of a black mark, you know?"

"So it's because you couldn't get a job that you couldn't fly?"

Murdock raised his head, narrowed his eyes. He was studying me carefully, skeptically. "What are you gettin' at, Colonel?"

I paused for a long moment. "We have a... potential job I'm looking into," I finally answered. "It would require us to go to Mexico for... a few days, maybe a week. And there's more job offers like this one. Commercial flights are risky when you're wanted." I looked up, staring Murdock straight in the eye. "I need a pilot."

Murdock stared back. "You want me to fly?" he asked, incredulous.

"We want you on the team."

Murdock swallowed hard and turned his head away. "I'm grounded. I gotta stay in here, Colonel," he said, his voice tight and speaking faster, as if panic was setting in. "The door's locked and the monkeys don't like it if I come out."

I calmly folded my arms in front of me, leaning forward. "I'm not expecting you to be ready to do this now."

That seemed to calm him a little. He glanced back at me again. "What are you expecting?"

"I'm expecting you to get better. And I'm expecting you to be honest with me about how much better you are."

Murdock just stared at me.

When he didn't speak, I sighed. "I don't know why you took off from that base," my voice was just a whisper in the stark room. "I don't know why you crashed. I did read the mechanical report on that chopper and I know that there was nothing wrong with it when you went down. Have you ever seen that report, Murdock?"

Murdock looked away.

"It's worth reading. You flew over known VC territory, cut the power, and landed in an auto-rotation into the trees. You crashed that chopper on purpose."

Eyes closed, Murdock shook his head. But he didn't speak.

"Yes, Murdock, you did. And I don't know why, and I don't care. I really don't."

I stopped, and just watching for a moment as Murdock opened his eyes and stared at the floor to his right. I let the silence linger for several seconds before I started again. "You work through your reasons why, Murdock," I finally said, quietly. "You let these people help you; that's what they're here for. But when you're ready," I reached into my pocket, and held out a small slip of paper, "you call me."

Murdock turned his head and stared at the paper. But he didn't reach for it. After a moment of hesitation, I continued. "Don't think that you can just spend the rest of your life here and not be missed. And don't think that if you would've died in that jungle, nobody would've cared. You're still a part of this team. And we still need you."

Murdock swallowed hard. Finally, he reached out and took the paper, clenching it in his fist as he withdrew his hand. I stood up straight. "I'll be back to check on you and I know Face is wondering about you, too. And BA."

Murdock shook his head, closing his eyes again. "Don't come here," he pleaded. He glanced up and caught my stare. "The police still come here lookin' for you."

"Well, that's a risk we're going to have to take," I answered firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

Murdock took a deep breath, and bowed his head as he let it out slow.

"You're not in this alone, Captain. I will be back."

**Vietnam, 1970**

"You talk to Angel," Lin Duc Co said under his breath as he passed the scraps of bread through the bamboo bars. "From the pit."

"Yes," I answered. "We did."

"You should not talk to him."

Murdock frowned. "Why not?"

"He try very hard, how you say, get on good side with General Chow."

Instantly, I was running back over everything that had been said in his presence. "I thought you said the pit was where they threw people when they were done with them. What could he possibly have that Chow would want? All of his information is outdated by now."

"He has... family relations." Lin shook his head. "I do not know what they do. He say to me, his father very powerful. He want to talk to General Chow. I say, I cannot help. Now he talk to General Chow, and General Chow put him in cage with you. You should not talk to him."

"Chow has a massive drug running operation," Face said quietly. "Tommy had a decent name for himself in the drug trade. It could be a family business."

"You know him?" I asked, surprised. If Face knew Angel, why hadn't he said something sooner?

"I know his name." Face winced as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I never met the guy before he was put in here."

"You know, he's been in there a long time," Boston said quietly, nodding his thanks to Lin as he quietly scurried away. "And very quiet."

I followed Boston's gaze to the raised structure - the same room we'd all become well acquainted with.

"Why ain't they bringin' him back?" BA added.

"Better question is, why'd they put him in here in the first place," Cruiser asked under his breath.

"I don't like that guy. Don't like nothin' about him."

"It's too quiet over there," Boston said quietly, his eyes on the raised structure that served as our torture chamber. "Something's not right."

As if on cue, three guards emerged from the building and head down the steps. They crossed to the cage with a determined step, and didn't pause to look at anyone but Murdock. "You! Come!"

"Hang in there, Murdock," Cruiser whispered as he passed.

We all knew this routine.

As Murdock crawled out of the cage and stood on wobbly, unused legs, he turned to look over his shoulder one last time, locking eyes with me. I forced a tight smile. "Give 'em hell, Lieutenant."

Murdock's smile was just as tight, but there was no fear in his eyes as the guards shoved their guns into his back, forcing him towards the interrogation chamber. Then the door closed behind him, and he was gone, leaving us with our questions and our fears and uncertainty.

It took us three days to fully realize that we would not see him, or Lieutenant Tommy Angel again.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**BA:**

This time wasn't supposed to be no different.

_Crack!_

The blood sprayed everywhere - all over my back. That alone made it very different. There hadn't been blood before. But now I could feel it running in streams. Muscles in my arms and legs were clenched tight in cramps. I could feel the hot, sticky rivers flowing down my back, into the path of the cane as it came down again.

_Crack!_

And again.

_Crack!_

I could feel the tears on my cheeks. They were flowing as steady as the blood. But I wasn't really thinking about crying. I wasn't thinking about screaming either, and I was doing that every time the cane came down.

_Crack!_

My throat was starting to feel like sandpaper.

_ Crack!_

But this wasn't supposed to be no different. So why did I feel so different?

_Crack!_

I couldn't think. That was nothing new. The pain took away the ability to make a full thought come together. I could only think about something for as long as I had between the end of the white shock from one blow to the start of the scream from the next. It was impossible to think about anything that -

_Crack!_

Pain. I couldn't think. That was nothing new...

The panic, though, that was new. It wasn't a real thought, one I made myself think. I knew this would be over soon. I knew I'd live through it. If they wanted me dead, they would've killed me a long time ago. But every single time I heard the _whoosh!_ of that cane, I was already screaming - before the blow even hit.

_Crack!_

My grip on the ropes around my wrists was loosening. I had no more strength to hold on anymore. I was running out of strength to scream, strength to tense up when the cane whistled behind me. Thoughts floating in my head were confused. Memories. Why was I thinking about these things? A child on the fire escape with a toy plane. A teenager with a book about a Nazi prison camp. They tortured men, women, and children there. They weren't even soldiers...

_ Crack!_

No scream this time. My entire body was shaking. I could hear the sobs - they had to be coming from me. Haze of black and gray and bloody red pain... I couldn't see. Sweat in my eyes and swollen, dry tongue in my mouth. My calf was clenched in a tight cramp, and I couldn't even move my foot to try and stretch it. Not that it mattered when every second it just -

_Crack!_

I felt my ribs snap with that blow and somewhere found the strength to scream once more at the pain. Angled just a little differently, he probably could've broken my back. And he would. I knew he would. There was no doubt in my mind that they would break every bone in my body before they killed me. They'd done it before. I'd seen the bloody, mangled bodies of men and women and children they had considered enemies. I'd seen the results of their systematic torture and execution. The amount of pain they'd gone through before they'd finally given in, I couldn't even imagine.

_Crack!_

The broken bone grated on itself. The lines between life and death, right and wrong, love and hate all disappeared suddenly with that last blow. The only thing real was pain, and an awareness that it was never, ever going to stop. They wouldn't kill me. I didn't have that peaceful rest to look forward to. They would do this forever. And I would never feel anything but pain.

That thought, in and of itself, was enough to shatter everything I knew about myself.

"Please..." Words were impossible to form. What did they mean? What did anything mean anymore? "Please stop." My tongue didn't even want to move.

_Crack!_

I screamed, from somewhere deep inside of me that I didn't even know existed. It was that part that a baby uses to cry its first breath. Something broken and terrified and lost and hurting and cold... basic and instinctive... the human response to agony and fear, without any thought or reason. It was the only thing I knew right now. I was lost to anything more than awareness of pain, and a base, animal instinct to make it stop.

"Do you have something to tell me?"

Shaking, bleeding, dizzy, and broken, I felt my eyes roll back as I teetered on the edge of blessed unconsciousness, not quite there yet. But for just a moment, the blows had stopped. "Anything," I sobbed. "I'll tell you anything. Just stop. Please make it stop..."

**Los Angeles, 1974**

The van was old, dirty and white with temporary tags. And it had no windows. That was the selling point, for me. Privacy. I could've afforded much better, but this one wouldn't attract attention. And until we knew our way around, that was the safest thing.

Hannibal was underneath the bridge, right where I'd dropped him off, a few hundred yards from the Westwood VA hospital. As I pulled to a stop beside him, he climbed in without a word, leaned on the door, and put his head in his hand. From the look on his face, it was impossible to tell how the conversation with Murdock had gone.

I hated to admit it, but I was too afraid to just ask how it had gone. I wanted to know, but at the same time... Just looking at the VA made me break out in a cold sweat. Just thinking about Murdock being in there brought back the memory of that inhuman scream. We had seen him break - not in the way that strong men broke when they reached the end of their strength. But in the way that someone who was no longer human became whatever it was that he became. He'd turned from a teammate, a friend, into a seething, fighting, screaming animal. One who didn't remember any of us.

The sight of that pit, the look in Murdock's eyes as I held him down to drug him, subdue him... That wasn't something I would never forget. Nobody could forget that. But that sight, that sound, those smells weren't what woke me up at night, sweating and gasping for air. It was that other scream - the one in the hospital. The sound of a wounded, broken animal screaming for its life. That was what scared me.

I had no problem understanding why Hannibal hadn't come to see Murdock sooner. Or Face, who'd been just a few hours away. What I didn't know was how Hannibal was able to walk in that place and see what was left of Murdock in a cage even now.

I didn't say anything as I pulled away from the curb, rounded the corner, and took the van towards the freeway. I was glad to be driving. The silence was somehow less intimidating while I had something to do with my hands.

"You alright Hannibal?"

Hannibal nodded. For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he dropped his hand, rolled down the window, and reached for his cigar. Those cigars smelled like burning banana peels. But he had more than earned that cigar. I pushed in the knob for the cigarette lighter.

"He's doing better."

I nodded slowly. "Doing better" covered a lot of ground. Last time we had seen him, Murdock didn't have much further to fall. It was hard for him to not be doing better.

"He didn't have any trouble recognizing me," Hannibal continued. His voice was flat and monotone, just giving a report. Somehow, I was glad for that. Somehow, it made it easier to hear. "He's... He doesn't seem to think he's doing as well as he is."

I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I couldn't seem to make my mouth work. There were a lot of things I wanted to ask. But there was also a part of me that realized most of those things... I didn't want to know. So I simply sat there, quiet, watching the road in front of me as I eased into the freeway traffic.

"I talked to his doctor. He's almost fully functional. But they can't get the paranoia under control. They don't know when - or if - he'll be able to be released."

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. Paranoia? Maybe if the doctors had lived a few days of Murdock's life they would understand. It wasn't just paranoia if people were really trying real hard to kill you.

"He don't have no one to watch his back," I said. "He gonna be paranoid 'til he knows he ain't alone."

"Not just that kind of paranoia," Hannibal corrected. "He's afraid of himself, his own inability to cope."

There was silence as I crossed the four lanes of traffic. LA didn't lack cars. I wanted to focus on the driving, to leave the conversation at that. But I couldn't. Feeling was something I was still having to learn how to do. Coping with those feelings was even harder. Right now, they were overpowering. Right now, I was glad it was only Hannibal in the car with me. Nobody but him or Face would've ever understood.

"Don't know if I got it in me to see him in a cage, Hannibal."

It was a shame filled, painful secret. One we never spoke of, but all knew, and all shared. It was the one other thing that haunted my nights. Not the memory of the pain; I could handle pain. It was the weakness, the helplessness. I had given in, given up in the name of survival. Murdock had held it all in, and he'd lost track of himself. It had been happening long before the pit, and I knew it. How could someone so much stronger than me end up like that?

Hannibal turned. I could feel his eyes on me. "It's not like that, BA," he said gently. "He's not just in a cage. They're helping him. They really are. They care about him." He hesitated a moment as he looked away, and finished in a quieter voice, almost a whisper. "Even if they don't understand."

"They don't understand, then no matter how hard they try they ain't gonna help him."

I was scowling, but it wasn't at the idea of people caring for Murdock. That was a good thing. More than a relief, in fact. We has all heard horror stories on the news about places like the VA. Mental wards were bad all the way around. It was good to know that his was full of people who cared. If that's what Hannibal saw, I believed it.

But the thought of Murdock being alone, again, was what cut me. How could he heal when he was right back in that darkness, separated from us? But trying to find some way to say it, to get the words out right, I was at a loss.

"We all need someone who understands. Who knows."

"You can always call him, you know," Hannibal answered simply. "Got a number right here."

I deserved that cutting tone. I deserved the guilt that came with it. It had nothing to do with Hannibal, just the fact that he was _right_. Murdock didn't need to be separated from us. But so far, Hannibal was the only one with the brass balls to go see him. Lord knew, I couldn't do it yet.

I couldn't blame Hannibal for the hint of anger as he shot a glare in my direction. I deserved that, too. Never was any good at talking; words always complicated things. Not too long ago, I could have just shut it all off - felt and thought and heard and cared about nothing. But things where changing, in small, slow ways. One grain of sand at a time.

As much as I didn't want to, I found myself talking, telling the truth even though I hated how it sounded. "I ain't strong enough," I admitted. "Not yet."

It was true. I wasn't. But for the first time in a long time, part of me thought, hoped I would be one day. Hannibal was quiet, eyes forward as we wound through the traffic. From the blank expression on his face, I could tell he was far away. That was okay. In fact, it was probably for the best. With a deep sigh of relief at the fact that the conversation was over, I focused my attention completely on the road.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**Los Angeles, 1974**

**FACE:**

From one side of LA to the other I wept. From Hollywood to LAX and all the way down to Long Beach. Past the Beverly Hills mansions that I'd always said I would live in someday. Past the beaches I hitchhiked to on weekend escapes from the orphanage. Past the Westwood VA where someone I knew was locked up.

I couldn't think about that. I already couldn't see the road for the tears.

The deep, scarring memories had come first, just as soon as I was a safe distance from Hannibal and BA. The memories ones that came back every time I locked eyes with either one of them. When I'd left the hotel and took this car, I'd hoped I could get away from those memories. Instead, they'd followed me. With a vengeance.

_"Tell me I can count on you, Lieutenant." _

_ Jesus, Hannibal, don't ask me to do this..._

_ "Tell me that I can count on you to do your part."_

_ I couldn't. There was no way in hell..._

_ "Tell me what you need to tell me, and the rest I don't want to know."_

_ He would break me. There was no fear of the whip, the hunger, the heat, the exhaustion. But the weight of what Hannibal was asking me to do was enough to crush me._

_ "When we get out of here, I will back you a hundred and ten percent." _

_ Pull it together. Crushed or not, it was what had to be done. I'd give my life for this team without a second thought. Nothing else mattered if they all died here, even if I lived._

_ "I'll have your back, Lieutenant. You have my word."_

Those memories had been hard to bury, but I'd buried them deep. It didn't matter now. All I had to do was glance around me at the two men who'd come here with me. All of it came rushing right back...

_ "Don't those scars on your back still burn, Cruiser?"_

_ I'd hit my mark. Finally, he understood my fear. I could tell by the way he flinched, and dodged my stare, and stood up to put his back to me. "I don't do this."_

_ It was a warning. But damn it, he was missing the point. "I fucking look at him and I remember it! All of it."_

_ "Stop."_

_ "Because he wasn't there. And he doesn't know. He has no fucking idea, and I don't know what happened to him!"_

_ "God damn it, stop!"_

The tears burned and blurred my vision as I tried to watch the road. Shoulders shaking, hunched forward over the steering wheel, I was sobbing openly.

In an open top convertible during stop-and-go rush hour traffic, a grown man crying his eyes out attracted a fair amount of attention. I didn't care. I was more than used to people staring, albeit for a very different reason. It was surprisingly easy to tune them out completely. I didn't see them. When I did I didn't care that they were there. Let them watch. Let them think whatever they wanted. They would never know how hot these tears burned, or how tight my chest was with every attempted breath. No one would ever know...

_ "None of us know a damn thing about what happened to him."_

_ "So what?"_

_ "I saw you break, Cruiser!" _

_ He flinched. Damn it, that one wasn't supposed to hurt. What was I doing? Why was I even thinking about this? "And you saw me," I whispered. "And Hannibal saw all of it. But nobody saw Murdock."_

I'd been broken, stripped naked, raw and bleeding in front of my team. But they'd never truly known what they were staring at. They'd never truly understood what they were seeing - what I was capable of. Dirty, traitorous, cold and unfeeling. I had no love for brother or country. I didn't even know what love felt like, and I didn't want to.

Six months in a hole had damaged Murdock as badly as six weeks lying in the cold embrace of the enemy had damaged me. That was measurable; we'd both survived. But how in the hell was I supposed to measure the damage now? Murdock was gone. I had accepted that long ago. Hannibal couldn't accept it - I wouldn't have expected him to - but I was over it. Murdock had not survived this time, and I had other problems. Other things to think about. I had to measure my _own _damage now. Sixteen months in a black hole that nobody saw but me...

_ "You make love like a man schooled by prostitutes."_

_ I stared at her, but couldn't think of a damn thing to say to that. Should I even be offended?_

_ "It's not a bad thing." She was smiling, fingers lightly stroking the side of my face until I finally decided not to be offended. "You're very good at it."_

_ Wasn't worth it to get offended, even if she had meant it to be an insult, underneath those pretty touches and tones. But the punch line was coming. I could feel it. _

_ "Most people who sleep with prostitutes despise them. They consider anyone who would sell their body pathetic. It takes a very special - a very unique - kind of man to pay for prostitutes... and then turn around and become one."_

I'd never felt the cold, empty shame of the life I'd created until I found myself staring at the life I'd replaced with it. I'd traded the closest thing I'd ever had to a family for something cold and dark and empty. Something I couldn't even define. It hadn't been intentional. I just hadn't ever thought of what it would actually feel like to try and look Hannibal in the eye again. After what I had done... Who I had been...

It took me ten hours to circle the city. Late in the evening, I ended up exactly where I knew I would: San Fernando. I hadn't really been driving anywhere in particular. I'd pretty much seen this city, and most of it, I didn't care to see again. But without any destination, auto-pilot took me to one and only one place: home.

San Fernando was one of the oldest neighborhoods in LA, if not the oldest. The mission there was set up sometime in the late 1700s. I used to know this stuff. I only remember the basics now. I didn't particularly care. What the hell was I doing here?

I was surprised to see that everything was so well preserved. The little shops with the olive-green exteriors, just like I remembered them but with different colors. The small ranch houses up and down the narrow streets. Nothing much had changed. It was familiar. Comfortable. At least it should've been.

Funny how familiar things had the ability to rip open wounds I didn't even know I had. They made me think. Too much. Standing in the lawn of St. Mary's, just inside the gate, I was definitely thinking too much. It looked the same. Same dorms with their easy-open windows and sturdy drainpipes for midnight escapes. Same church with the stained glass windows and huge oak doors. Same nuns that were coming out to see what the hell I was doing standing here...

Shit. Sister Lucille. I knew her. Chances were pretty good that she would know me. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I wasn't about to stick around and find out. I dropped my head before she could come close enough to make eye contact, and turned away, exiting through the gate and heading quickly to the car parked on the street. I couldn't deal with them right now. I couldn't deal with any of this, and I'd known that before I came.

So what the hell was I doing here? And if not here, where the hell was I supposed to go?

**Vietnam, 1970**

"Get out! All of you"

I looked up, startled out of the light sleep that was as close to rest as he got here. I found myself staring up at Dai, and the line of guards outside of the open cage. Seven AK-47s were trained on us, and Dai's pistol. Behind the line, two more were on BA, who was standing behind them. No, not standing. He was leaning, barely conscious and covered in blood, his face beaten badly. There was blood draining all the way to the ground. My stomach turned at the sight of it. They'd meant to kill him...

"Now!" Dai yelled. "Move!"

We looked to Hannibal, waiting for his lead. It was instinctive. And none of us knew what else to do. After a long hesitation, he crawled forward. He was yanked to his feet as soon as he was free of the cage, and shoved so hard on his wobbly, unused legs that he crashed to the ground. This seemed to be what they wanted, because no order to get up followed.

I followed behind him, and Boston, and Cruiser. Calm. We had to remain calm. Don't look at BA, and the torturers' handiwork. Just breathe and remain calm and try to make it to our feet. But when the guard began yelling at Bulldog, I knew this was not going to be good.

Cruiser was on his feet before any of us could manage it. "He can't get up, you fucking idiot," he growled.

Bulldog stared through the bars, a man who'd already been broken by pain and had no more fear left to feel. Dai glared down at him, and cocked the pistol pointed straight at his head. "Get up or I will shoot you."

"Are you fucking stupid?" Cruiser yelled. "Look at his fucking leg! He can't move!"

"You have until I count to three. One."

"You've got to be fucking kidding!"

"Two."

"Hannibal!"

Frantic, Cruiser turned to look at Hannibal, who was still on the ground. But Hannibal's gaze was locked on Bulldog. I followed it, watching the way the man's eyes slid closed, the slight smile that crossed his lips. After so much pain, he was glad for it. He was ready to die. For as much as I knew this memory would haunt me until the day I died, this was a mercy killing. I swallowed hard, and said a silent good-bye as I watched the young soldier take his last, agonized breath.

"Three."

I shut my eyes. The gunshot covered Cruiser's scream of, "No!" By the time I opened my eyes again, there were two guards wrestling Cruiser off of Dai. It didn't take long for them to subdue him. Already weakened by hunger and without even the basic protection of clothes, he was no match for three armed men. They forced him to his knees, and Dai's pistol cracked against the side of his skull, knocking him to the dirt. He didn't move.

Dai gestured to the side, and the two responding soldiers shouldered their rifles and lowered, climbing into the cage. I knew then what they were after. And it wasn't Bulldog's lifeless body. They went to the corner, to the dirt between the bamboo bars, and quickly dug up the few tools we had retrieved from Hannibal's clothes before they'd been confiscated - the scalpel, lock picks, needles. I shut my eyes. Damn it...

"Would you care to explain this, Captain?" Dai demanded as the items were placed carefully into his hand.

Hannibal rose to his knees, staring Dai down. But he didn't speak.

Dai looked down at Cruiser as he finally found the strength to push himself up, eyes blazing.

"Santa Claus came early, you fucking cocksucker. What do you think they are? Snowglobes?"

Dai knelt, grabbed a fistful of Cruiser's hair, and jerked his head back as he shoved the barrel of his pistol under Cruiser's chin. Eyes full of fury, Cruiser didn't flinch. I tensed, suddenly unable to breathe.

"It is most unwise to try and provoke my anger," Dai warned.

Cruiser growled audibly. "Go to hell, you fucking gook."

My lungs were screaming for air. Finally, I managed to draw in a breath as Dai shoved Cruiser to the ground, grinding his cheek into the dirt. "I do not think you understand." The look on Dai's face was almost amused. "Your government doesn't want you. Your country does not care if you ever return. You _belong _to me. And out here?" His voice lowered as a wicked smile crossed his face. "There is no one to hear you scream for help."

"The day I scream for you is the day I put a fucking bullet in my head, you filthy piece of shit."

A snort of laughter from Dai was a warning that he had taken that as every bit the challenge that Cruiser had intended it.

Cruiser struggled, growling against the hands holding him down. His muscles were so tense it looked like they were going to separate under the strain.

"You're a fucking coward, Dai! No honor, just a piece shit that can't do his own bidding. You can't even put me on the ground your own goddamn self you fucking pussy!"

_Let it _go _Cruiser!_

Cruiser couldn't let it go. He'd been suppressing that anger for too long, biting his tongue, and now, suddenly, the floodgates were open.

I couldn't help but regard the broken, bleeding figure of BA on the floor of the bamboo cell. I knew where this was going. And I knew that sooner or later, Cruiser _would _scream. The man's anger and stubbornness were to his detriment. In a place like this, they could easily get him killed.

Finally, Hannibal took a half step forward. "Lay off, Dai."

The man turned and looked at him. Adrenaline. Danger. Hannibal set his jaw, eyes narrowed. "Everybody here knows you're in charge. Let's just get this the hell over with."

"Everybody knows?" Dai asked with a raised brow. He looked back down at Cruiser. "Do you know? That you are subject to my purposes, and my pleasures?"

Cruiser grit his teeth, but didn't answer. I couldn't help but feel a rush of relief at that. Even as furious as he was, Cruiser still obeyed Hannibal's unspoken orders. Even in such a compromised position.

"I do not think everybody knows."

As quickly as it had come, the relief vanished. Cruiser was standing down. But I could tell from the smile on Dai's face that it was too late. He loosened his grip on Cruiser's hair and ran his hand down along his jaw - almost a caress that Cruiser tried to jerk away from.

"You'd better hope this place fucking kills me," Cruiser seethed through bared teeth. "'Cause if not, I'm going to destroy you."

Dai looked up and raised a brow at Hannibal. "No, clearly everybody does not know. But I do think everybody should. Perhaps we need a... demonstration."

I tensed, my breathing coming tight and shallow. A demonstration? Wasn't this whole insane charade a demonstration of his sadism and power?

"So let's get on with it." Hannibal was baiting him, trying to draw his attention off of Cruiser. "You already beat one of my men to hell. I don't figure it will be any different for the rest of us."

_Take the bait. Please take the bait..._

I barely breathed. Dai was quiet for a moment, his smile growing as he trailed his hand down from Cruiser's jaw, to his neck, to his shoulder, as if admiring him. Cruiser's struggle against that hand was a pitiful effort.

"I was thinking of a... different sort of demonstration."

I was going to be sick. Shutting my eyes hard, I choked back the bile that was rising. _Don't... God, please don't..._

"A demonstration for all present."

My knees gave out, and I hit the dirt as I swooned. But it didn't stop. Whether I was conscious or not, it wouldn't stop. With every ounce of effort I had, I forced my eyes open and locked them on Cruiser's. _Survive this_, I pleaded silently. _Just close your eyes and survive it._

"Hold him."

My heart stopped.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**CRUISER:  
** I realized my own vulnerable position very suddenly. Until that moment, the only thing I'd been able to think about was fury. But as the hands pushed down on my shoulders, and Dai pushed my legs apart, it hit me all at once.

This was not happening.

I struggled so wildly it took two more guards to hold me. Curses tumbled out of my mouth between the gasps for breath, nearly hyperventilating with the sudden panic of realizing I had nowhere to go, and could not possibly break the grip of five men holding me down. It didn't stop me from trying. Muscles flexed and strained impotently, but I wasn't even able to lift my head to take in a breath that wasn't filled with dust.

The need for air overcame the need to break free, though not by much. I stopped struggling, shut my eyes hard, and clenched my teeth. Just take a breath, just take a minute to regroup, to gather strength, to form a plan. Hannibal's voice - shit, Hannibal was still here. What was he saying? I couldn't even hear. There was a man's hand over one ear, holding my head to the dirt, and my other ear was against the ground. My head was ringing. Breathe. Slow. This was all a bluff - a scare tactic.

Hot flesh against my backside overruled all logic about the need to breathe. Furious, and flat-out panicked, I writhed against the grip of the hands that held me still. All of a sudden, I knew what I knew. It wasn't a bluff. Dai was serious. He was _hard_.

This wasn't happening. I had to be imagining this. _Breathe._ I needed air. _Stop struggling_. Not gonna happen.

Rough, callused fingers stroked the seam of the skin, passing over the opening, once, twice before pushing inside. I jerked forward, desperate to escape the intrusion. It was painful - _Jesus_, was it painful! But more than that, it was the humiliation that took my breath away. It was worse than a beating, by far. There was no dignity, no escape to get lost in. And it was really happening. I was being... violated.

Dai's finger withdrew. I stilled for a moment to try and take in a few breaths of hot, humid, dusty air. Was that it? Was he done? My mouth was dry and my lungs were screaming. I felt sick. But as I felt the press of something much larger replace Dai's finger, the frantic need for escape seemed more important than anything else. He wasn't done. Hands held me everywhere, and the indiscernible words that were tumbling out of my mouth without thought did nothing. I heard the sound of my own voice screaming in pain as Dai pushed forward, tearing me open.

The friction was lubricated only by the blood. I didn't stop fighting - wildly, shaking, grinding my teeth against the pain and the fury. Tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't manage a breath. Lightheaded and dizzy, I only knew of a need to escape. The words were sobs now, and I stopped even trying to speak, to make sense of anything. I didn't know what to _do _with this kind of pain, whether to embrace it or fight it. If I fought it, I knew I would lose. If I embraced it... No. I would sooner die.

I pulled against my captors again.

It felt like hours. I was in hell. The dizziness and confusion took over more than once. I slipped into blackness and came back to find myself still here. In hell. Agonizing, torturous hell. I wasn't even aware of it when Dai came. The only way I knew was because the man stopped.

The pain should've subsided when he pulled out. But it didn't. I could feel the blood and fluids seeping out of me as the hands left me. I collapsed in the dirt, shaking. No reason to get up now. No reason to fight. It was over.

I'd lost.

Orders in Vietnamese. I lay still, curled in a ball on the ground, struggling to breathe. I couldn't stop shaking. I didn't even try to. With half-lidded eyes, I saw Hannibal glaring at Dai, burning hatred and silent anger. On either side of him, Boston and Face were doing the same. BA had regained consciousness, but had no strength to even lift himself off the ground. Jesus, they'd all seen this. They had all witnessed what had just happened to me...

The soldiers dragged me to my feet. I struggled as soon as they touched me, but with a man on either side, there was nothing I could do. Dai turned, caught Hannibal's eye, and smiled wickedly. He was thoroughly pleased with himself. But he said nothing, and Hannibal's jaw was clenched too tightly to speak. I was glad. I didn't want anyone saying anything. I just wanted to go away. Someplace far, far away...

With a silent gesture, Dai ordered the guards. I stumbled as the barrel of an AK-47 was shoved into my back. We all walked, silently, eyes ahead, up into the hut with the hooks hanging from the ceiling.

The routine was expected, and it was followed with efficiency. I watched it from somewhere outside of my body, feeling nothing. This time, I wasn't alone in here. This time, the four of us were hung facing each other. Already exhausted and dizzy and in pain, I had no will to fight as they hung me from the ceiling. I slipped into blackness.

Pain brought me back to consciousness with an unbridled scream. Before I caught his breath, I heard the _whoosh!_ of the cane again. The pain came just a second behind - white hot and searing. Clamping my jaw tightly, I jerked involuntarily on the ropes that bound his wrists, pulling myself up. By the third blow, I had gained my bearings, found my escape. I was focusing on my breathing, eyes shut hard. But as the cane crossed the angry welts of the blows before, another agonized cry broke from my chest. I bit it back as soon as I heard it, and bit my tongue so hard I could taste the salty, hot blood.

I felt every drop of sweat that was trickling down from my forehead, along the side of my face, the back of my neck. I forced his eyes open and took in a breath as I locked eyes with Face, hanging directly across from me. He was mouthing something. Steady. Slow. Singing? The bamboo cane cracked once more - this time splitting my skin, and I gasped as I clenched his fists tight.

Blackness

"My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty." Words, voices. He heard Face, heard Boston. "Of thee I sing."

As I found my way through layers of pain and confusion, the sound of the song was the first thing I was aware of. Without conscious thought, I found my mouth working, rehearsing the lyrics before I was even fully conscious. "Land where my fathers died... land of the pilgrims' pride..."

I heard the sound of the cane's whistle and tensed again, wincing involuntarily. But this time, no pain accompanied the loud crack. I heard Boston's gasp, and his voice faltered as he clenched his jaw and continued with a tense, pain-filled voice. "From every mountainside..."

_Crack!_ Gasp.

"Let freedom ring..."

I was numb. Not to the pain; I was still acutely aware of that. But every part of my mind and emotions that could feel had shut off long ago. The gooks were talking. They wanted something. Information. About something. I had no idea what. Didn't care.

"My country is a breeze..." The lyrics made no sense. They were a haze in my mind. I didn't care. They were something to hold onto. Something for all of us to hold onto. "It rings in all the trees..."

_Crack!_ Pain. Blood. I could feel it, hot on my back. Running down my legs. The welts, the wounds, the reflexive tightening of my muscles when the bamboo cane struck again. Burning, dripping... I felt the weight of my body hanging on my wrists. One more lash. The torturer moved on.

"Where are the rest of your tools?"

"Long will the land be bright... And freedom's holy bright..."

I opened my eyes. Looked to the side, at Face. The VC torturer laid the cane lightly across entire spread of Face's back, diagonally over the welts and strips of blood. That gesture alone made Face flinch. My eyes rolled back as Dai paced back and forth between us. His attention was on Face now, but my mind was still circling. _James Harrison...Sergeant... US Army... 259220933..._

"My country 'tis of thee..."

"You are only making this more difficult on yourself. Do you enjoy this?"

"I already told you..."

"Sweet land of liberty..."

"There are no more tools."

The voices were a swirl of noise.

Crack. Scream. Sob.

"My country 'tis of thee..."

"Ray Brenner... Sergeant... US Army..."

Crack. Gasp.

Blackness... consciousness... all the same. All of it was pain. There was no memory now, no song. Only a mantra. _James Harrison...Sergeant... US Army... 259220933..._ How long? How many hours had we been in here? I'd lost track of the minutes long before I'd lost track of the blows.

"Your men are bleeding, Colonel Smith."

Crack. Scream.

"You could make this so much easier on them if you'd just cooperate."

"Fuck you, Dai."

Strength. I actually felt something in me stir to life again. _Give him hell, Colonel._

Pain. Blood. Dizzy. "James Harrison... Sergeant... US Army..."

"Stop."

The next blow didn't come. I kept my eyes closed, waiting.

"Do you have something to say, Lieutenant?"

Face...

"Please. Please stop."

Something inside of me, something that had closed in on itself protectively, opened at the first hint of weakness, need, in another member of my team. I took in a tight breath. "Don't," I hissed. "I can take it."

"I can't."

Face's response caught me off guard. I opened my eyes and turned to look straight at him. The kid's face was twisted in a look of pain. Dai had stopped directly in front of him, and the two stared at each other.

"Please," Face gasped. "The tools...it's...they're not tools. Just a few little..."

"Face!" Boston's tone reflected the emotion that I felt. Panic. Desperation. Fear of pain, of death, was nothing compared to the fear of weakness, of losing Face to Dai and what it would cost them all. "Face, look at me!"

Face didn't look up. He shut his eyes and lowered his head. "They're in the far right corner. Buried."

And then it was over. The panic was replaced by shock, then a rage that flooded through me with such indescribable force, I actually found myself struggling against the bonds that held me suspended - pulling and yanking on my joints as I tried to get free.

"Face, _stop_!"

"Name, rank, and serial number, Lieutenant!" Hannibal yelled.

Face flinched, but looked up at the man who'd come to a stop in front of him. "They're there. All of them."

All of the pain, the humiliation, the anger at the goddamn gooks... it was nothing compared to the hatred I felt for Face in that instant. There weren't even words for it, even if I'd had the strength to speak. The confusion of too many nerves and synapses firing at the same time prevented me from even thinking in coherent words and threats and lines to express my fury at this betrayal.

Dai turned and spoke to the man by the door in Vietnamese. Face kept his head down as I focused all of my attention on simply breathing. With every breath, my fury grew. When the gook soldiers came back with the last of the tools - the ones they'd hidden separately just in case one stash was found - the anger finally overcame my inability to speak.

"God damn you, Face! You mother fucking -"

It was all I had a chance to get out before the cane hit my side with enough force to snap my ribs like they were twigs. Overcome by the pain, dizzy, and confused, I felt my eyes roll back and my head drop forward as I sank into darkness.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**BA:**

The first thing I was aware of was pain. The second was the hand on my shoulder, holding me still, and a warm rag on my back.

"Mama?"

My throat burned. My mouth tasted like metal. Confused and disoriented, I barely recognized the voice that answered me.

"It's alright. Relax."

Boston.

I wasn't able to open my eyes. Memories I didn't want to remember slowly took shape around the pain. Camp, POW, Vietnam, pain, broken. And just like that, I remembered it all - where I was, what had happened. There was failure and deep burning shame, but I didn't feel it. I didn't have any energy or the will to do anything but lie still. And hurt. And listen.

"Thank you."

Hannibal sounded weak and far away. Who was he talking to? I couldn't even guess. He didn't say anything else, just let out a wet cough and a groan of pain.

I struggled to get my eyes open and orient myself. Heavy and swollen, my eye lids didn't want to work. I was only able to get the left one open halfway. When I was finally able to focus it, I saw the soldier on the other side of the cage sneering at me as he set the bowl of water on the ground, just out of reach, and walked away.

Breathing slow and shallow Hannibal had his head back on the bars of the cage and his eyes closed. He was still and unmoving, blood pooling around him. Bleeding. Hannibal was bleeding. Some distant part of my brain realized I was bleeding too - my lip and nose making small puddles of blood under my face.

I couldn't turn my head. Wo had managed to grab the bowl, and was lifting it to Hannibal's bloody lips. His eyes opened and he drank until he found himself in a coughing fit, curled into a ball against the bars. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, my gaze drifted over the tiny cage, taking inventory of the others. Just habit, didn't have to think about it. We were all bleeding. Cruiser was pressed against the cage, hands clenching into fist, shaking with rage that I could see in his eyes. No Bulldog, No Face. Bulldog was finally dead. Where was Face? I didn't ask. It hurt to think, let alone talk. Maybe it was time to die. It would certainly be easier then living.

There was the dull thump of flesh slamming into bamboo and a frustrated, furious yell. I managed to get my one eye back open. Cruiser was kicking the side of our cage, hard as he could. He wasn't trying to conceal his anger. With every kick, every yell, he was drawing more attention to himself. From the burning hate filled look in his eye, it was clear he didn't care.

"Fuckin' kill every goddamn last one of you!" Every word was punctuated by a kick so strong I could feel the cage rattle underneath me.  
Part of me wanted to tell him to stop. I knew now that all the anger, determination, fighting, it was pointless. It didn't matter. We were all alone, left to break, rot and die. All the yelling in the world wasn't going to change that. But I couldn't bring myself to speak.

Boston's hand paused on my back. "Can you um... help? Hannibal?" I never heard Boston sound like that, like he was begging.

Help? There was no one and nothing that could help us anymore. God had left us. The only hope we had was each other and I wasn't strong enough. I'd been tested and failed.

The threats and kicks and yells from Cruiser continued. He was too deep in to hear Boston's plea.

"I'll fucking strangle the last bit of life out of you, you worthless, spineless, mother fuckin' piece of shit!" He lashed out hard enough to make his foot bleed. Just more blood rolling down to the floor and slowly seeping down onto the dirt. Maybe this whole damn jungle grew on blood.

"I'll cut your fuckin' blonde little throat."

Blonde?

"Cruiser!" Boston's voice rang with an authority that snapped Cruiser to attention. As soon as Cruiser was looking at him, Boston was pleading. "Please. I need your help."

"Fuck off!" Cruiser was growling but he stopped kicking.

Confusion. As Boston grabbed a tattered piece of rag and dipped it into the grimy, bloody water, I saw how his hands were shaking. It was hard for me to tell if Hannibal was even conscious. He was on his side, curled tightly on himself, barely moving even to breathe.

Blonde. Something about that was wrong. The enemy wasn't blonde. Face was blonde. Where was Face? Boston was here, so was Cruiser and Hannibal. Murdock and Bulldog were dead, like I should be. Face. What had happened to him? My throat was bone dry, and my mouth so full of blood my words gurgled as I finally managed to talk.

"Where Face at?"

The look Cruiser pinned me with was glowing with rage and hate. "Turning tail and selling out. Mother fucker."

"Face broke," Boston's whispered.

My heart sank, with pity as much as sadness.

"He didn't break." Cruiser fingers were on Hannibal, taking his pulse. "He fuckin' turned."

"He did what he could." Hannibal's voice was weak as his eyes fluttered open and found Cruiser. Hannibal was conscious.

"Turn on you?" Jaw clenching, Cruiser moved his hands over the wounds. "He sold you out, god damn it!"

Sold out. I felt no anger, no feeling at all. I'd told Face he needed faith, I was an idiot for saying that. Faith was for fools. It was just as meaningless as the rest of those ideals I used to have a life time ago. I wanted to speak, to say that we all break. But I choked on my own blood. The pain of coughing had me seeing black spots. It hurt too much to breathe let alone talk.

Hannibal curled in tighter on himself and whispered, "He knew I could take it."

"He put a target on your back." Hate burned Cruiser's words.

Cruiser was wrong. Charlie put the target on our backs. The only hope we had of getting out was by sticking together. I had broken that. Face was just smart enough to do it before he was beat half dead. I couldn't blame him for that. The outcome would have been the same, no needed to take the damage. Face knew we were going to die here. He all but told me so. But I was too stupid, too foolish to listen. And I had been the one who broke everything. Shame and pain was all I had left. I would either have to live with it or die with it, and right now, dying seemed the better option.

Forcing myself to look Hannibal in the eye I said the words I never thought I would. "I broke."

Hannibal's eyes shifted to me, but he didn't move. He couldn't. "It's okay," he whispered as his eyes closed.

That was a lie. It wasn't okay. I gave up the only tools we had. I killed any hope we had. That would never be okay.

"Bullshit!"

There was venom in Cruiser's voice that I had never heard before. His hand slammed into the bars of the cage splitting his knuckles wide open. He didn't seem to notice, he just started yelling again.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Cruiser turned, and yelled at the top of his voice in the direction of the raised hut. "You hear me? I'm gonna fucking kill you! Every last goddamn one of you! Starting with that blond haired mother fucking cocksucker!"

My eyes were sliding closed just as I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. The guards finally responding to all the noise.

"You hear me, Face?" Cruiser screamed. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

The cage shook as the door was jerked open. Yelling in a language I didn't understand competed with Cruiser's vicious cries. I opened my eyes again as they finished dragging Cruiser out into the dirt, by his hair. He screamed insults, one after another, as their boots kicked at him until finally, he was silent.

I watched the whole procession with numb detachment. I would've felt angry, once. It would've pained me to watch. But anger and pain were pointless now. Feeling either only gave the gooks what they wanted.

Soon enough, they'd throw Cruiser back into the cage and his blood would join ours. It would all mix together and stain the bamboo floor. So much had been spilled already, and there was more to come. Did it even matter which one of us was bleeding anymore? It was all the same, every drop bringing us closer to the end. Either they would kill us outright, like Bulldog and Murdock, or just break us piece by piece until there was nothing left to put together.

Dizzy and sick - with both pain and the knowledge that I had started this domino effect - I closed my eyes waited for the blackness to take me. I needed to go away somewhere. Somewhere far, far away. Somewhere no one could find me.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

It was after midnight when the door opened.

"What are you doing here?" Face asked flatly, dropping his key on the table.

"Worryin' 'bout you."

He closed the door behind him quietly and kicked off his shoes without untying them. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Where you been?"

"I needed some time alone." He wasn't defensive. There was no emotion at all in his voice. "Somewhere no one could find me."

"You get that? What you needed?"

Face sat down in the chair near the door and stared for a long moment at the half-full bottle of vodka on the table. But he didn't reach for it. After a long pause, he looked up at me.

"If you had to confess the worst thing you'd ever done in your life, the worst sin you'd ever committed... Would you even know what it is?"

I frowned. "What kinda question is that?"

His eyes were empty as he stared at me. "The last time I was here, the last time I saw these people and walked these streets and lived this life... my worst sin was stealing a bottle of peach schnapps from a liquor store." He smiled faintly at the memory, but his eyes were still empty. "I was thirteen. And man, I thought I was hot shit. I was going to drink that whole bottle. Except I only got about halfway through it before I was sick."

I watched him, saying nothing. Slowly, the smile fell as he looked away.

"Now I think..." He paused for a long moment and swallowed noticeably. "I can't even think of any sin I haven't committed."

"So?"

He looked up and locked eyes with me for a long moment. "I'm just tired, BA," he said softly. "And I'm not... safe here. To heal."

"Who says you ain't?"

He shook his head. "I can't even look at this place. All that I was. All that I was supposed to be. All that I didn't ever want to be. There's so many memories here."

I understood that. I probably understood it better than Face thought. It was the same thing I had gone through when I walked the streets I'd walked as a child. I remembered that kid, even as I spilled blood on his playgrounds. I only wished that I had some kind of easy answer, a magic formula for how to make that pain of reconciling the two go away.

"Sounds like you gotta make peace with your past, Face."

Face's expression was pained, brow furrowed. "How?"

I shook my head. "I can't tell you that. For me, it was goin' to see my momma. Realizing that she don't care what I done. You got anybody like that you can talk to? Someone from when you was a kid?"

"I don't know." He looked away, concentrating hard on an indiscriminate spot on the floor. "Maybe."

I stood from where I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and crossed to him, resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Do what you gotta do, Face. And you take the time you need. We ain't goin' nowhere."

He didn't answer as I pulled my hand back and reached for the door. But he stopped me as I pulled it open.

"BA?"

I looked back, but didn't speak.

He forced a tight smile as he nodded. "Thanks."

I nodded back, and left his room, pulling the door closed tight behind me.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**FACE:**

"You care very much for your men."

I closed my eyes, ignoring Dai's stare. "I just sold my men out," I reminded him in a choked whisper. "What is it you want me to say to that?"

"I don't see it that way."

I rubbed my wrists gingerly as the soldier untied the ropes around them. I couldn't feel my hands, and my fingers didn't work the way they should. But it was the least of my problems at the moment.

"You're being reasonable. That bodes very well for your team."

I tried to concentrate. I knew I had to watch my words here. I knew I had to play this game perfectly. If I didn't, it could backfire on me in so many ways, I couldn't count them. Most importantly, I had to remember that I was on my own here. If I fucked up, the team wouldn't bail me out. They couldn't.

"I'm not doing this for my team," I said as firmly as I could. My voice was still weak. Shaky. Ignoring it, and ignoring the pain and as much of the confusion as I could, I looked up at him. "I'm doing this for me."

"Do you request their water for you, as well?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Yes." I kept my eyes locked on his, not wavering.

"Why?"

As if on cue, Cruiser's screams of rage filtered through the bamboo walls. "That's why."

His curiosity was growing. "I do not understand."

"When you put me back with them," I said quietly, "they'll kill me. At least this way I can say that... I was doing it for them."

"But you were not?"

I paused for a long moment, watching him, reading the curiosity and interest in his eyes. "This isn't how I want to die. And it isn't how I want to live. I'm worth more to you alive and healthy than I am broken and bleeding."

It was an open invitation for a reaction, and I was watching for it. I knew he wanted me alive and healthy. I had some suspicion as to why. Everything that I felt about what I knew was placed on the shelf - facts separated from emotion as I waited for that look to cross his eyes.

And it did.

To the analytical, manipulative part of me that cared very little for right and wrong and good and evil, it made perfect sense. I'd been cashing in on those elements - the soft, innocent, angelic, boyish features and charm - since I was old enough to recognize that they were a form of currency. Dai spent his days in the jungle, with soldiers who were hard and dirty and tough. Why would he _not _want something so innocent?

The tricky part had been defining _what _he wanted with it. Did he want to destroy it? Or did he want to possess it? His actions so far led me to believe the latter was more likely the case. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me. I was the only one whose skin his torturer hadn't broken, whose face had not been touched. He wanted to keep me intact. And witnessing what he had done to Cruiser gave me the last piece of the puzzle. That had been about power and dominance and humiliation. But Dai had told me much more with his performance. It was an act of torture. But for Dai, it was clearly just as much an act of sexual gratification.

I left my emotions and convictions on the shelf as he came closer and carefully ran his fingers along the side of my face - a caress that was no rougher even when he clenched his fist in my hair and tipped my head back to look at him.

"There is something about your eyes," he said quietly. "They are very... innocent."

I'd hit that nail right on the head.

As he released me, I immediately lowered my head. This was a role I knew how to play. And if my heart was beating in my ears, and my mind was screaming panic at me, he didn't have to know that.

"What do you want from me?" I managed in a choked whisper.

"Nothing I could not have already taken, if I willed it."

There was an element of power to it, for him. The two were wound tightly together. That was no surprise. The man was a sadist. I tried to process through the facts, to analyze, to assess. Anything to keep myself from acknowledging all the pieces of me I'd left stranded on the shelf.

"I could have forced you, you know. At any time." Gentle fingers trailed along my face, down my neck, across my shoulder. "Forced you to submit to my will. My every whim."

I swallowed hard, breathing shallow as the images of what this man had done to Cruiser flashed involuntarily before my eyes. "You don't have to force me." I swallowed hard and dragged my eyes back up to Dai. "I'll do it willingly."

"Why?"

I drew in a deep, slow breath. "Because we both know I'm never leaving this place. And I would much rather be of use to you than of little value."

"Do you think it will prolong your life?"

Another deep breath, another moment to carefully assess my words before speaking them. "I think you'll find that keeping me alive works to both our benefit."

"Perhaps you are right."

He looked me up and down carefully, then turned and spoke to the soldiers at the door in Vietnamese. My heart was immediately pounding in my ears as they turned and left the room. "You will stay here tonight," Dai informed plainly. "Away from your men who, as you say, would seek to kill you. But be advised that if anything in this room is disturbed, or if you make any attempt whatsoever to leave it, my men have orders to shoot not just you, but every American in this camp. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

The response was automatic, and it pleased him. He smiled broadly as he nodded his approval, then turned and left the room. It was not until he'd gone, with the door closed tightly behind him, that I let the panic come, dropping to my knees as I struggled for air and some semblance of control.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

Father Magill was in the rectory. He didn't even look up as I stepped into the doorway, hands dug deep into the pockets of my jeans. It was hard not to fidget. I'd been in this room - this very room, not just one like it - so many times, I couldn't count them. In trouble, in need, in confusion... I couldn't even identify what I was feeling right now, but it was probably a mix of everything I had felt before - all at once.

He looked no different. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. Six years didn't normally age a man too terribly much. But it was hard to believe it had really only been six years. It felt like a lifetime - several of them, in fact. I recognized him on instinct and reflexes alone. But for the life of me, I couldn't recognize myself.

He did a double take as he turned and caught sight of me. The shock registered, the recognition, and his jaw dropped open as he stared mutely for a few long moments, saying nothing.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

I dropped my head slightly as an involuntary laugh escaped my lips. Blasphemy from a priest. No wonder why I loved this man. Still smiling, I dared to raise my eyes. He was watching me, walking forward slowly. I fought the urge to back up towards the door.

"The prodigal returns," he said quietly, stopping directly in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders. "Templeton, I never thought I'd see you again."

I forced a smile, raising my head until I could look him straight in the eye. But I had nothing to say as the man looked me up and down.

"Just look at you. All grown up..."

He was smiling - pleased, proud, relieved. It was hard to pinpoint all of the emotions at play through the haze of my own unease. A long silence, and he shook his head slowly. Disbelief? Yes, I had actually made it to adulthood, contrary to the prevailing predictions and opinions of the nuns who had raised me.

I wasn't prepared when Father Magill suddenly put his arms around me in a full embrace. The recoil was instinctive, every muscle tense, and I bit back a nervous laugh. Shit, how did he get this close? I didn't want him this close. Not sure what else to do, I stood still. Finally, he pulled back with a laugh.

"Where on earth have you been, boy?"

God, how long had it been since someone called me that? A different life. So long ago... I took a deep breath, and a step back to a safer distance. "I've been -" what was the safest answer to that? "- in Vietnam."

He stared at me, bewildered. "Vietnam," he repeated, shaking his head again. "How on earth did you get yourself over there?"

I sighed deeply, and cut my gaze away. That was something I didn't need to explain to a priest. At least, not right now. Though to be honest, fraudulent enlistment paled in comparison to the long list of my other sins, at this point.

"It's a long story."

"Well, come in, boy. Sit down." He took a few steps back and gestured to one of the oversized chairs near the desk. I followed slowly, at a safe distance, but I was a lot more comfortable standing than I would be sitting in one of those chairs, and I knew it.

"So are you back in LA now?"

The question caught me off guard. Too many memories in this room, and they all attached themselves to me at the same damn time.

"For the moment, yes." I knew I should be smiling at him, should be pleasant and conversational. But there was nothing about this that felt pleasant and conversational. Being in this place made me feel just like a ten-year-old child again, and all of the uncertainty and anxiety that came with it.

It was a mistake coming here.

"Are you here alone?"

"No. I'm..." Another trick question. Not that he'd meant for it to be one, but there was no safe answer that wouldn't elicit further conversation. And right now, all conversation felt dangerous. "I'm actually here with some friends."

"Well, where are they?"

"They're around." I realized I was fidgeting nervously, and stopped. Jesus, I felt like a child. "Back at the hotel."

"Hotel." He leaned on the desk, arms and ankles loosely crossed. He was comfortable, still staring at me as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "So you're not staying long."

"We haven't decided yet."

The relaxed and casual smile left his face slowly in the lingering silence that followed. The conversational tone dropped into one more serious, more concerned, as he spoke again. "You're different."

I dropped my head again. What was I supposed to say to that? I was so different I didn't even recognize myself. It seemed strange that he recognized me, that he would greet me with open arms, as if nothing had changed. But he knew. All he had to do was look at me and he knew. I _was _different.

"Where have you been, Templeton?"

The question was not small talk. The concern that rang in his voice would've resonated through me even if I'd been deaf. I swallowed hard as I felt his stare burning into me, and slowly raised my eyes to his. It took me a few tries before I was able to respond.

"In a very dark place."


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

**FACE:**

Reintroductions were long and tedious. I knew almost everyone there. Their responses to seeing me again were pretty much the same all the way around. "You've grown so much," "just look at you," "we never thought we'd see you again." The smile was exhausting after a while.

The oldest kids were several years younger than I was. I recognized a few, but we didn't speak. They didn't know me. Six years was a very long time for a child.

"Why didn't you come back sooner?" Father Magill asked as he kept pace beside me, slowly wandering back to the safety of the rectory. In spite of all the smiles and pleasantries, I could still hear the concern in his tone.

"To be honest, I couldn't."

"Why?"

In some sense, it was easy to be honest with him. Years and years in a confessional booth reinforced that. But at the same time, being honest with him meant being honest with myself. And every passing minute I spent on these grounds brought more and more memories, more and more reasons why I should feel an incredible amount of guilt. And I felt it. I felt it so strongly, it took my breath away.

"Things are different, Father," I answered quietly. "Just like you said."

"Well, from my perspective, nothing could change so much that you could not come home."

I frowned. Home? Did he really believe that? "You don't know me, Father."

He laughed. "My dear boy, I know you as well as any man on this planet."

"The things I've done..."

"Templeton." He stopped and turned to face me, setting his hands on my shoulders. "I am a priest. There is no sin you have committed that would shock me."

I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. He had no idea what I was talking about - the magnitude of the sins I'd actually committed.

"God can forgive those things, Templeton," he said quietly, as if reading my very thoughts. "And so can I."

"That's good to know," I said quietly, eyes still lowered. With a deep, slow breath, I dragged my eyes back up to his. "Because I'm still not so sure that I can."

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly as he turned and closed the door behind us for privacy. "Well, why don't you start by sitting down," he said patiently with an inviting gesture toward the chair by the desk, "and telling me about them."

**Vietnam, 1970**

Shoved from behind, I stumbled, knocking my head against the low table. My mind flashed white with pain that faded to specks that clouded my vision as a rough hand tangled in my hair, dragging me to my knees. Thoughts racing, panic, I fought and gave in and fought to give in, floundering and trying to gain my footing while heavy hand pressed me down. Confusion. Fear. What was I doing? I couldn't do this.  
"Stay on your knees, American."

Dai spat the words, an insult and an order, and I obeyed. This wasn't happening. It was what I'd tried to accomplish and what I feared more than anything. My mind was both blank and racing at the same time as Dai unbuttoned his trousers. It wasn't real. It wasn't happening.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I kept his eyes lowered submissively. That simple act seemed to lower the level of aggression. In my peripheral vision, I saw Dai carefully withdraw his cock. But he wasn't racing; he slowed substantially, watching me as I presented the perfect picture of calm innocence. The more fragile I was in his eyes, the more careful he would be. And, quite possibly, the more he would enjoy this.

That would work to my benefit.

He was already hardening as he caressed my cheek with his cock. My breath caught, and I fought back the urge to shake. Jesus, this was really happening.

"You like that?" he cooed as he left a wet trail of sticky precum along my jaw. I couldn't tell if he was insulting, threatening, or genuinely asking.

_Focus, damn it! _I just had to get through this. Fear be damned. I fought for words, but couldn't speak.

"Open your mouth, Lieutenant," Dai said quietly. His voice was gentle. It wasn't a threat. The submissive routine was working. "You are a lieutenant, right? I seem to recall you saying that."

I worked my jaw several times before I managed a sound. "Yes. Lieutenant."

"Open your mouth, Lieutenant." The hand in my hair clenched, and I felt my breathing shallow out as I parted my lips just slightly. All of my control, all of my determination, could not make me open further.

Using sex as a tool was nothing new to me. In fact, it was how I understood it on the most basic level - a tool for relief from stress and tension. On a more practical level, something that could be bartered with. I'd bought everything from cars to drugs to respect with sex. This was no different. Just a tool.

So why was I so fucking terrified?

"You have never done this before, have you Lieutenant?"

I swallowed hard, forced myself to take a breath. "No."

"It's alright." He sounded so goddamn amused by that. "I will teach you." He grabbed my cheeks with the bony fingers of his free hand. His other hand was stroking slowly up and down his shaft. "Just know one thing."

I raised my eyes questioningly.

"If you bite me - if you even graze me in a bad way - I will break your jaw and make use of your mouth anyway. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Conditioned response, the correct answer to the question. I was glad for it. It meant I didn't have to think.

Dai chuckled quietly. "See? You are already learning."

Still holding my cheeks, he drew small circles around my split, chapped lips with his slowly leaking cock. I could taste the salt, and I fought back the wave of nausea at just what I was tasting.

"Kiss it."

If only there had been a conditioned response for that. One that didn't require me to think.

Slowly, hesitating, I pursed my lips against the heated flesh of my enemy. Dai tipped his head back with a soft moan. "Keep going."

There was at least some instinct to follow. Kiss preceded caress - lips and teeth and tongue. Women had done this to me before; I knew how it felt - what felt good. The warning about the teeth was not forgotten, but I was careful. Dai rocked against my thinned lips, building a spider web of sticky, salty fluid between his cock and my mouth.

"Open your mouth, Lieutenant. Open it wide."

He didn't wait for compliance. He shoved his hard flesh past resisting lips and teeth with a force that made me gag. I choked, and coughed, and tried instinctively to pull away. Dai's hands in my hair didn't allow it, but he did withdraw slightly - enough to let me take a breath. But with that breath also came taste, and another wave of nausea. With Dai throbbing and oozing hotly in his mouth, I realized for the first time that I was going to be raped. Hell, this _was _rape.

This was not a tool. When it was a tool, I was in charge. I was the one wielding it. I was not in charge of this. I was a prisoner, in a POW camp. This man owned me, and held life or death over me. _"I could have forced you, you know. At any time."_ The words echoed in my mind, the memory playing over and over. _"Forced you to submit to my will. My every whim."_

He'd been right. The fact that I had manipulated my way out of a vicious, forcible rape, the fact that I'd manipulated my way _into _my current predicament, didn't change the fact that in this moment, Dai held complete control over me. This level of submission was foreign to me. And it was terrifying. It would have been terrifying had it been towards someone I trusted. How much more so towards this man, this mortal enemy who would just as soon kill me as let me live.

_ "You don't have to force me. I'll do it willingly."_

My stomach roiled violently and I gagged again, giving Dai the opportunity to thrust deeper. And deeper still. True fear, the likes of which I had never known, held me paralyzed as wave after wave of humiliation and agony, shame and desperation, washed over me. _Breathe. Concentrate. Do not break. _I shut my eyes tightly, blotting out the horror being acted out on me. _Stay focused. Do _not _break!_  
Dai's fingers against my temple - more a blow than a tap - brought me crashing out of my dark mental sanctuary. "Look up at me, Lieutenant," he purred, his voice dripping with pure sadism.

As I complied, he thrust deep, his hard cock tearing the resisting throat muscles. I nearly screamed at the unexpected pain. But screaming would've taken breath, and it was everything I could do to keep the rising bile out of my lungs. I'd never given much thought to the vulnerability of the inside of my mouth and throat. But as I found myself choking on blood as well, frantically trying to catch a breath, it took every ounce of control I had not to struggle violently against the hand holding my head. Not to bite down.

"Just relax," Dai ordered. "Do not give yourself any more pain than you have to. You can take me if you relax your throat."

I could feel hot tears on my cheeks, and realized I couldn't remember the moment they'd spilled over. The idea of relaxing my throat was as horrific as it was impossible. _God, please, just let this be over!_ Both hands were on my hair now, holding my head in a vise grip. Dai switched to his native language as his pleasure built, his hips thrusting harder and harder until my will to resist - held as close to my chest as the will to breathe - snapped and disintegrated into nothing. I submitted completely, jaw loosening. The eyes that were turned up to Dai's face faded out of focus and finally slid closed.

Dai's moans of pleasure were lost somewhere in the haze of confusion swept into my mind, clouding my thoughts. I was breaking. I could feel it. But I could do nothing to stop it. _Don't... You have to stay..._ I'd seen men break before. They were never the same. I'd seen what could happen when they learned to go off into that dark little place in their minds where they couldn't feel pain. I'd seen them go there and never come back. I couldn't do that. I _had _to stay focused. My entire team was counting on me.

But I was slipping...

An eternity of hell. With vicious determination, I felt every second of it. Finally, the cock in my mouth swelled, erupted, gushing the searing bitter fluid deep down my throat. I gagged and choked and tried to keep it out of my lungs, but I couldn't have pulled away if I'd tried. I didn't try. I remained still, let Dai finish, let him pull away at his leisure. When he finally did, I spent a few long minutes trying to swallow that taste out of my mouth. I couldn't do it.

"Not bad for your first time," Dai said, looking me over carefully - admirably? - as he buttoned his pants.

_Say something!_ I lowered my eyes. "Thank you." _Kill me... God, please just shoot me..._

Dai chuckled quietly. Then, turning to the door, he called to the guards outside. He spoke to them in Vietnamese, then turned his gaze back to me as they approached and lifted me to my feet. It took me a moment to find my balance.

"You're going to go back to your cell now," Dai said. "Your captain has been warned that if you're harmed, I will kill every one of them, one by one. As long as everyone behaves, I'll have an extra ration of food sent over for you."

I felt nothing about that. There was nothing to feel. "Bandages," I said quietly, on autopilot.

"What?" Dai seemed startled.

Slowly, I raised my eyes. "Fresh bandages, Sir. Please. And water instead of the food."

Dai stared at me curiously. Finally, he gave a slight smile. "You're very strange, American."

My eyes slid closed and I bowed my head again. "I hope that's a good thing, Sir."

Dai spoke to the guards. I remained still, between the two of them, until Dai was finished and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

Outside, the thick, humid air was broken by a slight breeze. It wasn't much. Just enough of a change to clear my mind. The guards were talking. Laughing. As I walked between them, one foot in front of the other over the rough and uneven ground, I was slowly realizing what had just happened. Reliving it, processing every moment of it. It filled me with a deep and terrifying sense of helplessness. Fear. What had just happened? What had I just done?

Oh God, I was going to be sick...

**Los Angeles, 1974**

"May I ask you something?"

I was curled into a ball in the corner of the Father Magill's sofa, arms wrapped around my knees. It was an awkward position, and yet somehow comfortable. "Sure," I answered quietly.

His brow was furrowed, studying me as if he could not quite figure me out. I had spent the majority of the day with him now, and this was the first time he was looking at me in that way. "This may seem an odd question, but why are you here?" He paused and gave a brief laugh. "I mean, don't take it the wrong way; I'm thrilled to see you. But I still remember you running for all you were worth across the lawn before anyone could catch you. When you ran away from this place, when you didn't come back, we never thought we would see you again. Now you've returned after all this time. Why?"

I forced a smile. It was a little easier with the memory he'd brought to mind. I recalled that night very clearly. I'd run like hell, and I'd never looked back. I'd really believed, back then, that if I just ran fast enough and pushed hard enough, I could shape my destiny any way I wanted to.

"Well, I guess it's a lot like you said, Father," I finally answered quietly. "The prodigal returns."

He studied me for a moment, curiously. After a long pause, he finally replied. "Do you know what a prodigal is, Templeton?"

"A runaway?" I guessed. I knew the parable as well as any other Catholic schoolboy.

"No." He chuckled. "'Prodigal' means 'wasteful.' The prodigal son took all that he had available to him in life and squandered it on meaningless, sinful things. Things that gave him a lot of temporary pleasure. But in the end, it was all a waste, and he had nothing."

It was odd just how comforting it was to sit curled up on this sofa and listen to him teach about the Bible. I wasn't even sure how much of the Bible I believed anymore, but hearing him speak it was more soothing than I ever would've expected.

"I don't know what you've done in these past six years, Templeton. I don't know what you have wasted yourself on, or how you have used and abused your talents and abilities. But I will remind you that the prodigal son was restored. When he returned to his father, naked and dirty and starving, to beg for a place among the servants, his father ran to meet him, and put his own coat and ring upon the boy's finger. And this I do as well."

As Father Magill stood, I rose as well, watching him carefully. He crossed the few steps to me, and placed both hands on my shoulders again, his eyes deep and sincere. "If there is anything you need, Templeton - spiritual or otherwise - all that I have is yours, my son."

There was no reservation in that simple statement. No judgment, no fear. He didn't truly know what I had done, what I had become. He could never comprehend it even if I could find the words to confess it. But he didn't care. I let his reassurance settle deep inside of me as I lowered my head, not surprised this time when he wrapped me in a tight embrace. And this time, I hugged him back.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

The guards opened the cage and threw Face inside, headfirst. I watched silently as he landed on his stomach and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, trying to sit up. He wasn't bleeding, wasn't beaten. But one look at him warned me that the damage done to him by whatever horrific torture had just commenced was irreparable. Chest tight, eyes expressionless, I watched my lieutenant begin to shake, barely able to hold himself upright.

"[You heard as well as I did,]" one of the guards laughed to the other. "[Not even a token resistance. He liked it.]"

Oh good God...

"[Maybe they're all like that.]"

Wo had been sleeping. His eyes opened at the sound of the voices, looking first at the VC and then at Face. Like BA and Boston, on either side of him, he was watching Face's continuing attempt to get up. He wasn't making progress, but he wasn't collapsing back down either.

"[That one is.]" The guard nodded at Cruiser, who was glaring silently at Face. He would have probably already had his hands around Face's throat if not for the warning from Dai. "[We've already seen that.]"

Laughter. The VC cast a vicious sneer in my direction. "[I wonder about that one. Do you think he'd scream?]"

More laughter. I couldn't care less what they said about me, how hard they laughed. But what they were saying told me exactly what had been done to Face. And for that, I wanted to kill them where they stood.

The lieutenant was shaking, breathing quickly. He was trying to hide it, but the panic was written all over him. Terror. It was the look I had found in dying men's eyes. No comfort, no control... subject to the merciless ravaging of death. I knew, in that moment, that this nineteen year old boy would never be the same. A part of him had died in that room. And whatever it was, it would be forever gone.

"What's the matter, Face?" Cruiser's taunting voice was filled with bitter anger. "Your new friends hurt your feelings?"

The words were salt in raw and open wounds. Face looked up, and locked eyes with me. "Hannibal!"

His whispered, panicked cry put to words and tone what was written in his eyes. Shamelessly exposed, desperate, terrified and unable to defend himself... and in need of defense against his own teammate. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do for him until those guards were gone. I listened to his cry for help, and held his stare, but I didn't respond.

The guards imitated him with laughter. With tears and trembling, Face sought support and assurance, his eyes desperate, until he finally concluded that he was not going to get it. Then he curled in on himself, lying down on the floor of the cell in a fetal position. More laughter. More mocking. Words that Face could not understand and I did not want to hear.

_How could you do this to him? How could you put him in this position?_

"Some friends you've got there," Cruiser said bitterly. "Aren't you glad you're being so fuckin' cooperative?"

Face wept openly, and the guards spent several more minutes poking fun and insults at the men who didn't even speak their language. I couldn't even imagine what they would've said if they'd known I could understand them.

Finally, they tired of the game and wandered away from the cage. I waited until they were gone from sight, then reached out a hand, palm up.

"Face."

The boy looked up, eyes still full of tears and agonizing desperation.

"Come here."

He didn't hesitate. He pulled himself up and crawled the few feet to me. Then he crawled right into my lap, like a frightened child.

I could feel the eyes on me - the surprise from BA and Boston, the vicious glare from Cruiser. "I don't believe this," the medic hissed under his breath.

Face curled into a ball against me, still sobbing. Ignoring Cruiser, I wrapped my arms protectively around the boy's shoulders as he shook.

"It's okay."

"Help me..." Weak and terrified, his voice shook almost as much as he did.

"It's okay. I've got you."

Cruiser was merciless. "Aww, now isn't that sweet?"

"Shut up, Cruiser!" It was BA who interceded on Face's behalf, with enough anger to silence the sarcasm. But it didn't wipe the vicious, mocking smile off of Cruiser's face.

"Yeah, man," Boston joined in with a glare at the medic. "Lay the fuck off. You're not helping."

I didn't intervene. Arms tightly around the boy, I rocked with him, putting my chin on top of his matted hair. He was my only concern right now, not Cruiser.

"So sorry," Face gasped. "I can't... it wasn't..." The words were lost, drowned in loud, unashamed sobbing. "It doesn't mean anything! It doesn't..."

"No, it doesn't," I agreed quietly. I tipped my head down, and lowered my voice so that nobody could hear. "You did what you had to do. I'm proud of you, kid."

It was the wrong thing to say. Face shook violently as he curled into an even tighter ball. "Oh, God! I can't! Make it -"

"Shh..." I kept my voice low and calm. My own emotions had been buried deep from the moment I'd seen the guards dragging my lieutenant back to the cage. Right now, I felt nothing but numb cold and protective instinct.

"Make it stop... please..."

"It's okay, Templeton," I reassured the shaking, sobbing boy who was clinging to him desperately. "You're safe. You're safe now. It's over."

"You promise?"

In spite of all my safeguards, I felt a deep and uncontrollable wash of emotion with those words. How was I supposed to answer that? How _could _I answer that? It wasn't safe. It wasn't over. The fact that I'd give his life to make it so didn't mean a damn thing. I was powerless to protect him, and powerless to promise I would do so. But that instinct - that _need _to shelter my own - was stronger than that reality. I nodded as I stroked the boy's hair back from his tear-streaked face.

"I promise. You'll be okay."

With a few more deep, wracking sobs, Face slowly calmed. Resting his head on my shoulder, his sobs turned to quiet gasps for breath. I didn't loosen my embrace around him until I felt his weight settle, his breathing shallow out. Exhausted and broken, Face slipped into a light, quiet sleep.

"Why do you lie to him, Colonel?" Boston asked quietly, seriously. "You know whatever happened to him is going to happen again."

"And when it does, he'll need his strength," I replied. "Which means he needs to feel safe now. So he can rest."

"Hannibal," BA said low. "How are we gonna get outta here?"

I lowered my eyes. "I'm working on that."

"Well, when we do," Cruiser's voice was laced with bitter anger, "maybe we should just leave him here with his friends."

BA growled. "You shut your mouth, Cruiser! 'Fore I shut it for you!"

"It was _his _choice," Cruiser snarled.

I suddenly felt my own anger flare. I grit my teeth as I glared at Cruiser, trying to keep my voice down. "No," I corrected him. "It was _mine_."

Silence. The look of surprise was evident on all of their faces. "Yours?" Boston finally asked, clearly confused.

"Mine," I said again. "And maybe it was a bad call. Or maybe it's the only thing keeping us alive. I'm damn sure it was the only hope Bulldog had for survival."

"Yeah, well we see how that one turned out," Cruiser shot.

"Like I said," I answered coldly, "maybe it was a bad call. I take full responsibility for that. But might I remind you, Cruiser, we haven't lacked food or water since he started that 'cooperation'."

"That's because of Lin Duc Co," BA said. "Not Face."

"Lin Duc Co left with Chow. And still, we eat. You think they're doing that out of the goodness of their hearts?"

No one had an answer for that.

"Face is paying them," I said darkly. "In any currency he has that doesn't amount to treason. And yes, that means you. It also means _him_. Don't think that he's getting out of it, Cruiser. Because he's got to go through it with Dai, then come back here and deal with _you_."

I looked at Cruiser and glared, eyes narrowed into slits. "When those guards are here, you say whatever angry things come to your mind. But when they turn their back, don't you _dare _look at him with anything but love and _gratitude _for what he's willingly put himself through for your sake. I couldn't order him to do this because I knew what it would mean. And he knew too. And he did it willingly. For _you_! He _is _my plan to get us out of here. And he's the only one of us who can pull it off!"

Cruiser was silenced. Maybe he heard the reason, maybe just the tone. In either case, he didn't have any retort.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Boston asked.

I had an answer ready. And in spite of the fact that Boston's question had not been particularly challenging or confrontational, I answered with aggression. "Because if they see one shred of sympathy from you towards the man who's betraying you, it's going to blow his cover."

"That might be a good thing," Boston said.

"For his sake? Yes. For getting us all out of here?" Hannibal's frustration was mounting. "He is our best link - maybe our _only _link - to everything we need in order to get out of here alive. He knows it. And he _chose _to put it all on the line, knowing what you'd have to say about it, knowing how you'd act, knowing he'd have to go through it feeling completely alone. But damn it, he is _not _alone! He did this for you. And for me. And God forgive me, I had to ask him to do it. I can't change that now. But if I hear one more snide remark out of _any _of you that's not delivered with the full intent and purpose of playing for the guards, I swear to God, I will leave your ass here. And I will be happy to do it, too. Because _that _is treason, Cruiser. And as far as I'm concerned, you can burn in hell if you turn on this team."

Long silence followed. Finally, Cruiser bowed his head submissively. "I'm sorry."

"Save it," I shot. I wasn't sure if that was genuine or not, and I didn't care. "When this is over, he'll need to hear it. But for right now, you just keep doing what you do in front of these guards, and keep your mouth _shut_ any other time."

"What about you?" Boston asked quietly. He nodded towards Face. "You're kind of in a compromising position for someone who's been betrayed."

"If the guards see me right now, I'll just have to think of something."

I looked down at the sleeping boy in my lap, curled against me. God damn, he was just a child. Tear-streaked and deceptively serene, his deep breathing slow and steady as he rested on my chest. He belonged in high school. He sure as hell didn't belong out here.

"That's my problem," I finally whispered, letting my thoughts wander as I felt - almost a physical sensation - the way my heart bonded to this broken, needy figure in my lap. "Not yours."


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**FACE:**

"Face."

Somewhere in the darkness, someone was speaking. Involuntarily, I felt myself being pulled toward the calm, soothing voice.

"Lieutenant, wake up."

Oh God, please, no. I didn't want to wake up. It was safe here, in the darkness. It was calm and peaceful. I wasn't ready to face the agony that awaited when I opened my eyes again. But already, I was aware of it. That meant I was not going to be able to fall back asleep and simply ignore it.

I felt the warmth of body heat, the comfort of human contact. I was sore from not moving, and the lingering pain from the wounds on my back made me wince involuntarily as I tried to shift position. Oh God, just let me go back to the darkness...

The monkeys and gorillas were still asleep, and the jungle was eerily quiet. It was still night. Why was Hannibal waking me? The taste in my mouth brought back a wash of crystal clear memories, and I suddenly felt sick. I took in a few slow, deep breaths, struggling to pull it together. I had to pull it together. They needed me, damn it.

Eyes open, then shut. Hannibal's hand was on the back of my neck, and I was leaning on him. As my awareness slowly returned, I forced the panic down and concentrated on the comfort of his familiar presence.

"Colonel?"

"Hmm?"

"I would _kill _for a cigarette right now."

He chuckled quietly. "Come on. Sun's almost up."

I groaned quietly - pure agony. I didn't care if the sun was coming up; I wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted nothing more than that welcoming blackness. Except maybe a cigarette.

Another deep breath, and I forced my eyes fully open as I sat up slightly and surveyed my surroundings. I was on the floor of the bamboo cage, leaning against Hannibal. My head had been resting on his chest. It should've felt awkward as hell, but it didn't. At the moment, I was pretty much incapable of feeling shame.

Hannibal kept his arm around my shoulders. In spite of the oppressive heat - already, before the sun had even come up - I wanted it there.

"You okay?"

The question was genuine, and it took me a long moment to find a genuine answer. "I think so."

"We've probably got a few minutes before the guards come to check on us."

He paused for a long moment, and I closed my eyes again, savoring the last few moments of relative peace before I faced hell. What had changed, since the morning before? Everything and nothing was different. We were still prisoners, locked up here, naked and helpless. But more than before... I felt shattered.

"You want to tell me about it?"

I cringed. _Oh, please don't ask me that. _"Do you want me to?"

"That doesn't matter. I asked you."

"No." Giving a report on the events from last night was right at the top of things I would rather shoot myself than commit to. I took a deep breath and pulled away, sitting up. "No, I'll be fine."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, but he let it go. Thank God. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I ran my hands through my hair. Now what? The uncomfortable silence made me want to squirm, but I held it back by sheer force of will. Whether or not I gave him a report, he knew what had happened. There was no doubt in my mind about that.

"Sorry about last night," I finally whispered, holding my head in my hands.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." There was nothing about that I'd call "okay." It was one thing to scream in pain when stripped and beaten. It was quite another to crawl into my commanding officer's lap and sob like a child. "I just..." God, I didn't even want to think about it. "I don't know what happened. It was like it just... hit me all at once."

"Stress does funny things to the brain, Face. Don't worry about it."

At least he was trying not to make an issue of it. I wasn't sure what I'd do if he'd been any less casual about it. "In any case, thank you."

I turned my head and locked eyes with him, just briefly. He nodded. "Like I said, kid. Don't worry about it."

I looked away again. I had nothing more to say on the matter, and was glad when he changed the topic. "Are the keys in the truck?"

Keys. What keys? I fought for a moment to gather my thoughts, to switch tracks from the uncomfortable, raw pain to "work" and what had to be done next. "No," I answered softly. "They're in Dai's pocket."

"Can you get them?"

"Easily." I glanced at him. "What's your plan, Hannibal?"

_God, please let him have a plan that's better than mine._

"That truck is our ticket out of here."

I smiled faintly, involuntarily. "I got that part. I mean the rest of it. Like how we're going to make it past the armed guards. And how we're going to get those guys who are in the pit out of here, too." I frowned as I considered that problem. "Who knows if they're even strong enough to walk from there to the truck, much less run."

"So we'll bring the truck to them."

"We've still got to get them up."

He paused as he studied me. "Clearly, you've thought about this. So what's _your _plan?"

Eyes down. Shit, he had to ask me that.

I had a plan. It would work, and I knew it. It would get us all out of here just as long as we could stay alive until I had a chance to move. But words didn't describe how much I had been hoping that Hannibal had a better, faster, easier plan than mine.

My eyes slipped out of focus as I considered my words carefully. How much did he need to know? How much would he want to know? He'd said before - whatever I needed to tell him, and no more than that. Licking my lips to bring moisture back to my mouth, I turned my head away.

"Give me a few more nights," I finally whispered. "I'll get the keys, I'll get you guns, and I'll get you a map. We kill every last one of these motherfuckers, pull our guys out of the pit, and follow the map to Da Nang."

He paused for a moment. "That's one hell of a plan."

"Yeah, I thought so." I could hear the icy tone in my own voice, but it was the least of my concerns. I was acutely aware of what I was saying, and of the fact that Hannibal could read between the lines. I didn't have to spell it out for him. After all, he'd been there last night...

"Are you _sure _you can do this?"

I could feel his eyes on me, searching. I swallowed hard as I took a breath, and looking in the other direction. "If I wasn't, would it matter?"

"I wouldn't willingly sacrifice Bulldog. I'm not about to sacrifice you."

That much was true. I knew it. I also knew what he'd asked of me, what I had agreed to. How far he'd thought that through, I wasn't sure. But it was definitely further than step one. I knew him too well to think otherwise.

I lowered my eyes, tracing invisible designs in the dirt. "I can do it, Colonel," I finally whispered. I paused for a long moment, and kept my eyes down as I continued. I couldn't look at him. I wasn't sure I would ever be able to look at him again. "The worst of it is over. I know what to expect. And I'm not afraid anymore."

No response. Damn it... I dared a quick glance up. It only took me a half second to read the guilt written all over his face. "I'm so -"

"Don't," I interrupted quickly. The last thing I needed was his apologies. "I did this, not you."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment before he spoke, barely a whisper. "That isn't true."

"You wanted me to trust you," I reminded him quietly. "I trusted you then and I trust you now. You made a call that I couldn't have made. And it was the _right _call. It's going to get us out of here." I turned and forced a tight smile in the dim, gray light, but was careful not to hold his gaze. "So just let me do what I do. This one's on me."

"At what cost?"

His words were like a punch to the gut. He couldn't have meant to do that to me, but it didn't make the recoil any less reasonable. My jaw clenched involuntarily as I turned my head the other way. "I am _not _going to think about that right now," I said firmly.

"I'm sorry."

I took a deep breath, and let the anger fade. No sense in being angry. If anything, it would only make this even more difficult than it already was. "And anyway, it doesn't matter."

Hannibal stared, head shaking slowly. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. His face was filled with deep emotion that I'd never seen before - on him or anyone else. It was strange, and confusing, to witness. Finally, he whispered under his breath, so quiet that I could barely hear him.

"Whatever happens, I am so fucking proud of you, kid."

I was shocked by the words, and by the sheer sentimentality that was woven into them. Unexpected emotion flooded through me, and I forced it back down just as quickly, before I could even identify it. I couldn't deal with emotion right now. This was just not the time or place for it.

"We're going to get through this, Hannibal," I said firmly.

In the dim morning light, the colonel nodded slowly. "Yes," he agreed, his voice barely audible. "We are."

**Los Angeles, 1974**

There was a dog barking. Dog? Wandering through the layers of sleep and dreams, I found my way back to the realm of the living and discovered that yes, in fact, that _was _a dog. Eyes open, I stared for a long moment at the pattern on the ceiling, reorienting myself. Where was I? _Who _was I? It seemed odd to have to ask that question. But all too often, I didn't know, from day to day, who I was supposed to be.

I was on a sofa. The deep morning shadows that came through the window gave me a good guess at the time. Nothing, no one was stirring except for that dog. And after only a few more seconds, even the dog quieted. I let my eyes close again, and breathed deep.

This place brought back memories. They were memories I didn't want to remember, but didn't want to put to death, either. The person I had been - or, rather, the person I would have become if I'd stayed here - was an enigma to me. The way he thought, the way he acted. His innocence and unquestioning acceptance of those few things he knew were real: love for God and country, faith in his own strength and determination, the assurance that he would never be alone.

It was ironic that those were the things I'd been trying so hard to bring back, when I'd reverted to this name, and the warped picture of who I thought he'd be, when I was in Vegas. This boy was not a soldier, war torn and bloody, and the soldier had put him to death. But there was one very key point I'd forgotten in Vegas, when I'd tried to resurrect him. I'd forgotten to dig up his soul. It was here somewhere, in these four walls, with these people. Somewhere in all of this was the person I could've been.

I sat up slowly, feet on the floor and head in my hands. That man, that ideal, had no name. But for the first time, I could see him in my mind. He remembered the life of the soldier, and although he didn't advertise it, he could become that soldier in an instant if need be. But that soldier did not carry his soul. It was a role, nothing more. His soul was something deeper and more real than that role. I didn't know for sure what that soul looked like, but I knew it was guarded with fire and _teeth _from anyone or anything that would harm it. Few would have access; that was the safest way. And the role of the soldier, the role of the escort, the role of the Catholic schoolboy... they would all serve as shields. That was a life I could live. It was a life I could understand.

Slowly, I stood. Still dressed from the night before, I hesitated only a moment before I grabbed the keys off the table near the door and glanced once more down the hall, towards the room where Father Magill was sleeping. I should say goodbye. But it wasn't really necessary. I'd be back. I was through with running. And maybe, just maybe, when I came back, I would have a better understanding of what this supposed soul of mine actually looked like.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**FACE:**

Hours had turned to days, and days to weeks. With each one that passed, I could feel my soul slipping through my fingers like sand. I'd lost track of the days long ago, even before they'd taken Murdock away. But it had to have been several weeks since then.

Dai was not the trusting soul I had hoped he would be. And each failed attempt at an opportunity ended the same way. I spent countless nights on the floor of the torture room, separate from the others but lying in their blood. Until he wanted me. But when he did, it was always the same. His guard never lowered. His men were never out of earshot. My men were growing weaker by the day.

Desperation had a funny way of eliciting behaviors that were not my own. By the fourth time he took me to his room, I had learned how to separate from myself completely - to feel no pain or shame or humiliation. To smile at him, even. It was then that I began to win his trust. And it was a very slow, delicate process.

It was also since then that he'd kept me separated from the team. I had no way of knowing the condition of the others. I was kept completely apart from them - in the torture room or in his quarters under constant guard. But he never laid that cane on me again after that day. The more that I got to know him, the easier it was to become exactly what he wanted. The game I had learned as a child, the one that had lured women to my bed and men to my service, would serve me well here. And I would live to see the day that I would use it once again on innocent and unsuspecting civilians.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

It was only a three hour cruise, around the bay at Newport Beach. But it was one that both locals and tourists seemed to frequent. That made it a perfect hunting ground, especially when I wasn't sure yet just what I had a taste for. This sort of hunting, for my own gratification, was unfamiliar. It had been years since I'd done it, and in that time, everything I wanted had changed.

As the boat paused beside the sea lions sprawled lazily on the buoy, I stopped beside the one woman standing apart from the rest. Easy prey. As she smiled at the sight of the animals all piled on top of each other, I gave her a quick, subtle glance up and down. Bikini top, low cut jeans, and a camera in her hand. Tourist.

"Boy, that's the life, huh?"

She glanced at me, did a double take, and smiled. "That was me this morning, trying to get out of bed."

The sea lions arched and stretched, then flopped back down. I chuckled at the analogy. "Hopefully not with fifteen other people piled around you. Unless it was one hell of a wild party last night."

She laughed, and extended a hand. "I'm Caroline."

"Ron." I shook her hand gently.

"Nice to meet you."

I nodded, then slipped my hand back into my pocket, hooking my thumb into the belt loop comfortably. "So are you from around here? Or vacationing?"

"Actually, I'm here for a funeral"

Hmm. That was not the answer I'd been expecting. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright. I didn't know her very well. But it was kind of sudden and I didn't have a whole lot of time to plan. I found this tour by accident, really. Just because the hotel front desk told me to check it out."

Good. That made it a little less awkward. "Have you seen downtown yet?"

"Oh, no." She chuckled. "I don't have a car here. And I can't get a rental until I'm really, truly, actually an adult. Not just one who can drive, vote, smoke, and drink. In that order."

I smiled. "Ah, yes. The rental car driving age."

I watched her out of the corner of my eye as the boat finally moved past the sea lions and she put her camera back into her purse, reaching for a cigarette. I had a light ready for her by the time she had it to her lips, and she blinked in surprise before she smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

I paused, letting her get her cigarette started as I looked out over the water. It was calm and serene, the boat gently rocking on the ocean's swells.

"You know, Caroline, if you don't have plans for tonight, it's not too late to get reservations at one of the downtown restaurants."

The implied question was perfectly calculated - not pushy, but filled with well-deserved confidence. I raised a brow as I glanced at her, curious to see her response. She was taken aback. But not offended, not uncomfortable. Simply... stunned. It took her a moment to smile back.

"I'd love to, but... I really don't have anything to wear to someplace where you'd need a reservation."

"Well, you could go in that, but it might cause a bit of a stir."

She laughed.

"I certainly wouldn't mind," I continued, smile still in place. "It's a very attractive outfit, if a bit informal."

"Really," she chuckled, "I'm flattered. But I really don't have anything except for what I wore to the funeral and I'm kind of on a tight budget."

I leaned forward on the rail, hunching down slightly between my shoulders. "We can go someplace without a reservation if you prefer."

She studied me carefully. Clearly, she was wary of the extra effort. She needed an explanation. I had one ready before she had a chance to ask.

"To be perfectly honest, I just broke up with my girlfriend of seven years and it's a question of either sitting in my living room alone or treating a beautiful young woman from out of town who has no plans to a nice dinner. And if I had my choice, that beautiful young woman would not be looking for a relationship, or sex, or anything more than just a nice dinner. Because frankly, I'm on the rebound. And I know it."

She stared at me for a long moment, dumbfounded. Then, finally, a full smile broke out on her face. "Thank you," she said. "For your honesty. Actually, I would love to have dinner with you."

I smiled. Of course she would.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

It was a strange experience to hand over my keys to a stranger and walk away from my car with only a piece of paper to prove that it was, in fact, my car. Of course, it really _wasn't _my car, but the principle still stood. It was almost as strange as the thought of someone else driving it to somewhere unknown to park it. Was this normal for people to do? To not only be okay with it, but to pay money for it?

I hid my insecurities about the situation very well. It wasn't like I cared if it got scratched, or even dented. I really needed to dump it, before I got pulled over in it. I was pretty sure the owner would have reported it stolen by now.

Valet parking was new to me, and uncomfortable. But the suit and tie, head held high posture and radiant confidence was familiar and comforting. This time, it worked for the benefit of the woman _I'd _chosen to accompany me for the evening. A woman who was neither paid, nor would pay me, who wanted to be here for the sake of the experience and who had no quota for me to fill. That was new to me too. But it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it was liberating.

After dinner, I drove her back to her hotel, gave her a kiss good night, and was on my way back to Long Beach, never to see her again. It was perfect. I needed a relationship about as much as I needed a client, and either of them were worth a hole in the head to avoid. I returned to the house on Long Beach tired, but pleased with the evening's progression. As I opened the sliding glass door I'd unlocked earlier, I smiled. I'd always thought I would own a house like this one day. But I didn't even have to own it. All I had to do was smile for it...

_ "Oh, here, let me help you with that."_

_ The middle-aged woman stepped back as I helped her load the luggage into the trunk of the Cadillac._

_ "Oh, thank you! You're so kind."_

_ "Much obliged, son," her husband offered with a friendly smile._

_ "No problem." I stood straight and held out a hand to go with the smile. "John Rogers." _

_ "Ron Berkowitz."_

_ "Nice to meet you." _

_ Not even a hint of hesitation at giving his name. I flashed my best charming smile to the woman standing beside him. _

_ "Where you guys headed?" _

_ "Cancun," the woman sighed happily. "Two whole weeks of bliss."_

_ Two whole weeks, their house would be vacant._

_ "Well, I hope you guys have a great time. There's this one little restaurant called the Cabana, right in front of the Holiday Hills Hotel. Their food is to die for."_

_ "We'll have to check it out."_

_ "Nice meeting you."_

_ "You too."_

Standing in the doorway, I let the cool breeze sweep in from the ocean, like a lover's caress. No, better. It felt like... freedom. With a sigh, I walked to the kitchen and surveyed the bottles of wine on the countertop. Mr. Berkowitz had good taste. I poured a glass of Riesling and headed back out to the deck overlooking the beach and the ocean.

I stood there for a long moment, still, watching the waves as they reflected the glistening white light of the moon. The peace and solitude was comforting. No people, no pressures, no expectations. I'd had a pleasant dinner, a social outing, and now, without obligation, I was alone. I smiled, genuinely. Damn. I should've thought of this sooner. This was great. Of course, the true test would be whether or not I could make it through the night without those night terrors I called memories.

**Vietnam, 1970**

Silence. I lay still, unmoving as I listened to the familiar sound of a man's breathing. I didn't move - not even to turn my head and look at him. Eyes closed, I kept my own breathing soft and slow and measured. And waited. I heard his breathing deepen, felt his arm rest heavy across me. He was asleep. Still, I waited, praying that he couldn't feel the frantic pace of my heartbeat against his hand. Calm. Breathe.

I needed to move, to test how awake he was. And I needed to do it very carefully. I drew in a deep breath, and let out a quiet moan, feigning sleep as I turned toward him. He was startled awake by the movement. I'd had a feeling he would be. But now his guard would lower, when he saw me sleeping peacefully with my head on his shoulder. Now he wouldn't question when I turned away, to get more comfortable, in my sleep. As long as he let me stay...

I could feel his deliberation. But after a few long minutes of debate, he finally relaxed again. Once again, I listened to the sound of his breathing even out. This time, he would sleep deep.

I wasn't sure how long I waited. It felt like hours. Maybe it was hours. I should have waited hours, if I could manage the patience for it. But it was hard to tell time, and I knew it felt longer than it was. Still, I waited. I waited until _he _turned and put his back to me. Then I waited some more, listening to the sound of his quiet snoring. Then I got up.

I had been trained in all manner of killing. Any common object could be a weapon, if you knew how to use it. There were blunt objects everywhere. But there was no way to guarantee that the first blow would keep him from calling the guards who were posted right outside. There was a pistol on his side of the cot, lying beside him and well within reach. I didn't want that. I wanted something quiet. I wanted something like... the decorated knife resting on a display on his dresser. In fact, that was precisely what I wanted.

Lifting it carefully, feeling its weight in my hand, I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath before I turned and fixed my eyes on the figure lying on the bed.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

**Vietnam, 1970**

**HANNIBAL:**

He didn't make a sound as he slipped out of the building, into the shadows created by the firelight some distance away. I wouldn't have even seen him if I hadn't been watching the door, the way that I had been every night that he was separated from us.

One arm around one of the guards' neck and he pulled his hand fast. The man crumpled to the ground as the dim orange light caught the glint of Face's knife, and in a fraction of a second, Face had the pistol from the other guard's belt. A single shot in the back of his head before he even had a chance to turn. Face grabbed the AK-47 out of his hands. He cut down most of the guards around the campfire before they even had a chance to reach for their weapons.

Startled by the sound of the guns, Cruiser and BA were awake and against the bars of the cage in an instant. Boston and Wo were right behind them.

"Jesus, is that Face?"

I nodded in answer to Boston's question, but didn't speak. Face ran the gun dry on full auto, spraying anything that moved, and grabbed the other one from the man on the ground at his feet. He picked up the knife again, too, and scanned the area carefully before he sprinted the distance from the door to the cage.

I could smell the blood on him - thick and coppery. He was saturated with it. He passed the knife through the bars as he turned, putting his back against them, and waited for any indication of movement in the darkness. It came, and he cut them down just as quickly. As I slit the vines that held the bamboo cage together, he was firing into the darkness.

In seconds, we were free. Without thought, without words or orders, we moved to the campfire and gathered the guns left lying beside the bleeding NVA. There was no need for direction; there was a single-mindedness about this team that was uncanny. As one, we formed a line and as one we moved in and out of the few buildings. They were all awake now, but only a few of them managed to get to their guns fast enough to shoot. And none of them hit anything in the dark.

There were seventeen guards here, an unknown number of prisoners in the pit - they wouldn't accidentally step into the line of fire - and one cook, who'd been sent ahead once again by General Chow, who was set to arrive first thing tomorrow morning. I wondered if Face knew that, or if he cared.

Lin Duc Co was easy to identify. Alerted by the sound of the firing AKs, he was awake as they all were. But instead of reaching for a weapon, he'd fallen to his knees at the side of his bunk with his hands raised, bowed low. "_Chu hoi! Chu hoi!_ "

Face almost didn't recognize him. Or maybe he did recognize him, and he just didn't care. As he aimed, I stepped closer and pushed his hand - and the gun - aside. For the first time, he looked at me, eyes ice cold and blazing at the same time. I was startled by the intensity of what I saw there. Face had always been a soldier, as long as I'd known him. But never the cold-blooded killer I saw at that point.

"Don't," I said quietly, knowing full well that if he wanted Lin Duc Co dead, there wasn't a damn thing I was going to be able to do about it.

He stared at me for a long moment. A flash of anger, a blatant challenge... and then he turned away. He didn't speak. As the last few rounds fired off at the front gate, everything was suddenly very still and quiet. The man kneeling in front of me was hyperventilating, eyes shut tight. Blood dripped from the wooden bunks. Footsteps on the bamboo flooring made me turn, and I locked eyes briefly with Cruiser. But his attention was focused mainly on the lieutenant who was covered head to toe in blood.

"Fucking hell, Face, what'd you do?"

Face stared at him for a moment with an empty, blank look in his eyes. Then he simply turned and walked away, out of the room. Cruiser watched him go, then looked at me, wide-eyed. I took in a long, slow breath, and shook my head, trying to focus. "Are we clear here?"

Cruiser glanced briefly at Lin Duc Co, but didn't raise his rifle toward him. "We're clear, Colonel."

"Go get those men out of the pit," I ordered calmly. "And have BA find the keys to the truck. Face said Dai had a set in his room."

"Right."

Cruiser was gone instantly. I turned and stared for a moment at the man still huddled, shaking on the floor. "You come with me," I ordered.

He didn't move, just stared up at me with frightened eyes, trembling. I watched him for a moment, then shouldered the rifle, offering a hand down to him. "Come."

Reluctantly, still shaking violently, he put his hand in mine and I pulled him to his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught one final glimpse of Face, watching silently from the doorway with pure, vicious hatred. He didn't lock gazes with me. As Lin Duc Co shrank back, Face shouldered his rifle and turned away, disappearing into the darkness outside.

**Los Angeles, 1974**

The small bar was mostly empty at this time of day. Counting myself, there were a total of four customers. It would be hours before the after-work rush filled the stools and red vinyl booths.

Several things appealed to me about the place. It was dark, private and, most importantly, around the corner for the hotel Face had got them. For the last four days, I had been spending most of my time here, sipping bourbon and waiting for my missing lieutenant to show up. He would, eventually. I was sure of it. And if he didn't, well, then I was pretty screwed because I didn't have a clue where to even start looking for him. Lord knew, he was more familiar with this town and its hiding places than I was.

Sitting in the corner booth with my back to the wall, I kept my eyes down as I reached for my cigar, then my lighter. It took a few tries, flicking the flint, to realize it was out of fuel. But before I had a chance to completely give up on it, there was a flame just inches in front of me. I followed the lighter, to the arm, to Face, standing beside the table. He waited for the cigar to catch, clicked the Zippo closed, and replaced it in his pocket before sitting down in the booth across from me, saying nothing.

For a moment, it was safest just to concentrate on the cigar. I needed both the nicotine and the time. For days, I'd been waiting for him to show, and I still had no idea what to say.

"Crown and coke," he ordered from the waitress, with a smile.

As she disappeared again, he sat back in the booth, stretching his arm along the top of it. Christ, he looked like he'd just stepped out of the pages of a catalog - the perfect gentleman. He was nothing like the brash, emotion filled kid who had saved my life more times than I could count.

During my wait, I had come to realize just how much I didn't know about Face. I didn't even know if he had family he would have gone to see. His military records, while I'd seen them, were a joke. I knew virtually nothing about his life before he'd joined up. Funny, I trusted him with my life, but I didn't really know anything about him at all.

"There are some apartments in the area of Glendale that you might be interested in," he said smoothly, eyes wandering over the room. That much hadn't changed. Once you'd been caged, you never stopped marking your exits. It was also a great excuse to not make eye contact.

"The area's not terrible," he continued, "and the management can be easily persuaded to respect anonymity. If you're looking for someplace a little more permanent than the hotel."

"Apartments," I repeated. Rolling my cigar in my hand, my eyes never left his. "Does that mean you'll be staying around, too?"

Face was quiet for a long moment. The waitress returned, and Face smiled politely at her as he took the drink. He waited until she was gone to answer. "I've spent six years running from LA," he answered, ever-so-casually. "I'm done running. If this is where you want to be, fine."

I couldn't even define what I felt, the thoughts flashing through my head as I stared across the table at my XO. All the mistakes I had made, everything I had asked him to do and the price he had paid for it all. What I owed him - hell, all of them. The things we never talked about, and never would. All we had been through... And still, here we were. Here _he _was, still betting the odds and doing the impossible and looking like a movie star while he did it. Like nothing bothered him. It was a lie. But it was one I was immensely grateful for.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

That voice was cold and fake. It was anything but the pain-filled tone from before, the anger and emotion. Face had retreated somewhere deep inside of himself where it was safe. And from the cool, collected exterior that he so masterfully maintained, it was hard to tell whether or not he would ever come out again. He seemed perfectly comfortable behind the mask. Maybe that was for the best.

"I'm sorry, Face."

"For what?" The nonchalant tone was bitter, even if Face clearly didn't mean for it to be.

I look a larger-than-normal sip of bourbon as I studied the stranger in Face's skin. How was I supposed to answer that? I should have listened, should have done so many things differently. I shouldn't have abandoned them. Shouldn't have gotten them mixed up in this mess in the first place. They were good kids, and meeting me had been the turning point that destroyed their lives.

Face looked down, took a long drink, and kept his head lowered. "You did what you had to do, Hannibal." He looked up again, and toward the door - in the opposite direction from me. But he made no attempt to move. "We all did."

"You did what I _asked _you to do." I kept my voice flat and restrained as I took another drink, emptying the glass. "And splitting us up was a bad decision. My bad decision. And I take responsibility for it. For the fact that you two were the ones who paid for it."

He shrugged. "Well, look at it this way." The smile was fake and bitter, almost an attack in and of itself. It wasn't clear if he had intended it to be that way or not. "If we hadn't, we wouldn't have an air conditioned place to sleep tonight. And you wouldn't be able to afford that drink."

I had taken punches to the gut that hurt less than those words.

"My decision," he continued after a moment's pause. "Not yours."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I didn't go to Vegas because of you. I would've gone there anyways."

It was hard to tell just how sincere that was when everything about him looked and sounded so fake. It didn't matter.

"If that's true, then we should have gone with you."

He laughed briefly, cynically. "No offense, but I didn't want you there."

"That's not the point."

He sipped his drink slowly, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of it as he set it back down. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a heartfelt sigh. "Look. I can think of a thousand places I'd rather be other than LA. You want to be here, and it's your call. I get that." He looked up and finally locked eyes with me, if only briefly. "I'm not okay with it. But I'm not leaving. So whatever it is you need from me..." He hesitated for a long moment, and finished with a tone that was so determined it was almost enough to mask that cold, unfeeling nothingness beneath it. "You just let me know."

I nodded slowly. "An apartment might be good. I don't think the hotel management is going to appreciate BA's idea of redecorating."

Face finished the last of his drink, then stood. He'd said what he came here to say. Reaching into his pocket, he set a handful of items on the table in front of Hannibal. "BA has money. I don't. But here's the address to the apartments, and a phone number where I can be reached until Monday. After that, I'll be relocating, and I'll get you a new number. Keys to a rental car, which is paid through Monday and parked behind the hotel. It's not incredible, but it'll get you where you need to go and it's safer than public transportation at this point. Anything I missed?"

"BA already took care of our transportation. You use the car."

"Fine."

I stared at the information on the paper as Face turned away. A contact number and a date. Face was leaving again, but he was planning on coming back this time. There was nothing more I had a right to ask for. Face was no longer in the Army, and giving even this information was little more than a courtesy.

"By the way..." Face paused halfway to the door, but made no attempt to come closer. His tone remained light, but the look in his eyes, even from this distance and in the dark, was serious. "Say hi to Murdock for me. When you go see him."

He didn't wait for a reply before he turned away again and was out the door in a matter of seconds.


	28. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

**Los Angeles**

**Two Months Later**

**HANNIBAL**

I was startled to see that Murdock wasn't asleep in the other bed in the hotel room. A few minutes of panic, a call to BA in the room next door, and I'd finally thought to look out the window and see Murdock down on the beach. The sigh of relief was probably heard a half mile away.

I'd dressed, shaved, and grabbed a cup of coffee on my way outside with BA. I hadn't seen Face in three days. He was somewhere in the city; I knew that. And I had a half dozen numbers for where he might be reached. No telling which one the kid was actually staying at. Face knew where to find us, and that was probably more important. We'd be here when he came back, and I knew why he would want to hide. It was hard seeing Murdock. Even after these two months, BA had barely been able to handle it.

I grabbed a new cigar from my pocket as I stepped out into the cool, early morning air. The salty breeze hit my face immediately, reminding me where I was. Good old LA. Definitely worse places to be. I smiled to myself as I lit the cigar, glanced at BA who was a half step behind me, and headed down to the beach slowly.

Murdock was sitting just above the high tide mark, knees bent, leaning back on his hands. He had his shoes and socks off, his bare feet worked into the sand, toes wiggling. Head bopping, he was singing "California Girls" almost under his breath. His grin was so wide, his teeth caught the dim light of early dawn.

I wasn't sure how long Murdock had been up. I'd kept one eye on him - watching through the window - since I'd woken up and found him missing. That had been about twenty minutes ago now. But he could've been out here on the beach for hours before then, for all I knew. It was slightly concerning that I hadn't even stirred when he had gotten up, but I'd save those worries for another time.

"Morning, Captain."

He started at the voice and glanced over his shoulder. His bright eyes were suspiciously damp. But whatever he'd been thinking, it was gone as he scrambled to his feet.

"Colonel! Morning. It's okay, me bein' out here, right? I just... I needed to feel the air. No walls, ya know? It's different. Good different. I just..."

I listened to him race through his thoughts until he finally stopped and waited to see if there was any reason for all the worry that was written on his face.

"It's not a problem, Murdock," I assured him. "Though I might prefer if you save me the flash of panic and actually _tell _me when you're leaving next time."

"Oh. Right. Yeah." He ducked his head, grinning sheepishly. "It kinda... wasn't really a decision, planned thing. The ocean was callin' me. The sky. I've really missed the sky. They have this little park back at the... yeah. But s'not the same. Can't look up, look out. See the blues. Watch it changin'. Sorry. I'll... Next time, I'll... Yeah."

I nodded as I took a few steps closer, and looked out over the dark surface of the water. It was deep and foreboding, black nothingness as far as the eye could see, not yet illuminated quite enough to tell the sky from the ocean.

"No nightmares last night."

I let that statement hang. It seemed odd to bring it up, but it said a hell of a lot. Murdock's nights in Vietnam, when he'd come back for his second tour, had been one long nightmare. He seemed like he was in better shape now than he'd been back then.

"I didn't actually sleep," Murdock admitted quietly, head lowered.

"Why didn't you get me up, man?" BA asked. I knew it came out harsher than he'd intended, but he was worried. He always got that way when he was worried.

"'Cause I didn't want anyone watching me," Murdock said firmly. He fisted his hands as his breathing starting to speed up, tension singing through his whole lanky frame. "Every night, they come check on me every hour. I just I wanted one night without anyone watchin' me. Don't you get that?"

He hugged himself hard to stop the shaking that was starting. I frowned at the reaction. Whether it was the meds or the mental instability itself, Murdock's moods and actions swung from one end of the spectrum to the other, almost too fast to keep up. He was paranoid.

"Take it easy, Murdock. Nobody's trying to trap you."

"I know, I know, I know, you told me that."

BA dropped his head. He was no good at this. He didn't want to hurt him, but he didn't know how to talk to him, what to do.

"We just want to make sure you're safe. And _we're _safe."

Shit, that didn't come out right. But I wasn't used to paying such close attention to my words. I'd discovered really quickly how hard it actually was to avoid words like "crash" and "crazy" just in everyday speech. It was like mental gymnastics just to make sure I didn't say something I'd regret, and he still wasn't too sure just how stable Murdock was.

"I don't have to tell you, there's an MP colonel out there who'd love to know how you got out of the VA."

Murdock took a slow, calming breath. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Sorry. Sorry, big guy. You worry, I get that. Just... I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm not freakin' out on you. I'm just..." He shook his arms out, flexing his fingers and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'm calm. See? I'm calm. I'm okay."

"Yes," I agreed. "You are."

His gaze darted to the side, not looking at either me or BA. "I just... I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I'm out. I'll be careful."

I watched him for a long moment, then glanced over my shoulder at the hotel. Something didn't feel right. It was that sixth sense, highly developed by life or death need-to-know. I kept my searching as inconspicuous as possible, not wanting to alarm Murdock or alert whoever was watching us that I knew about the eyes on us.

Lynch? Not likely. He wouldn't sit back and watch. He was too stupid for that. He'd come running at us singlehandedly with nothing but a pistol before he sat back and watched us for any length of time. I turned slightly, oh-so-casually, scanning my surroundings.

"So where's Faceman?" Murdock had turned away from us, still flexing his fingers - in, out, in, out - rotating slowly to stare at the ocean and sky and glimmering of sunrise over the hotels and condos of the city. "When we movin' on?"

"Face is -" What was the safest answer to that? "- taking care of some business for us. He'll be around."

"So... what? We have a few days here? Hanging out? Swim? Hire some surfboards? I'll need swim trunks. Uh... and clean clothes. We have cash or is that what Face is seein' to? You've got a plan, right? You're always the man with a plan."

I was still scanning. My eyes finally came to rest on the shadow standing on the corner of the hotel. He wasn't conspicuous, and it was too dark to see him clearly, but it sure as hell wasn't Lynch. I looked away quickly from him quickly, before I could draw the attention of the other two, and turned back to Murdock just as he finished rambling.

"We have cash. And the plan right now is just to take a few days and see how it goes. I'm not about to put you into any situation we don't _all_ know you can handle."

"I don't know that." The artificially light tone dropped as Murdock turned and looked straight at me with wide, scared eyes. "What if I ain't too sure I can handle _this _situation, Colonel?"

"Then we stay right here until you can."

"What if I can't?"

I paused briefly, searching him. "You know, Murdock, if you're not ready..."

I let the statement hang. I was distracted by our audience. But the last thing I wanted was to increase Murdock's already-substantial paranoia.

Murdock took a deep breath. "I'm fine, jus' fine. It's just... big. All of it. The space, the sky..." He realized he was panting and growled, muttering under his breath. "You are _not _gonna have a panic attack just 'cause you're outside." He took a breath, and continued louder, to us. "I'm not. I'm fine. I just need a while is all. I just haven't slept without being doped in a while. Prob'ly got used to it. Y'know?"

I drained the rest of the coffee in my styrofoam cup and stared at it for a moment, making sure that it was very clear that I needed a refill. Then I glanced up at Murdock and smiled. "I'd offer to get you some coffee, but it doesn't sound like you need it. BA?"

I raised my cup, but BA shook his head. "Nah. Thanks."

"Coffee's prob'ly a bad idea but how 'bout water? The drugs give me cotton mouth and I still got it. It's okay for me to stay here? I swear, I'm doin' fine. Just need a little time."

I gave Murdock a reassuring smile and nod and a quick, "Be right back," before turning back to the hotel.

I crossed the beach and the pool and went in through the doors. Then I promptly dropped the cup in the garbage, exited the front of the building, and came around the side with pistol in hand but keeping it out of sight. I could've been silent. I wasn't. I consciously let twigs crack under his feet, just to see the reaction of the observer to being snuck up on.

I realized at a distance of about three feet who I was looking at, and it made me more irritated than if it had been a stranger, or a threat. Mostly, that irritation was because he didn't seem to notice I was right behind him.

Crossing the last step silently, I put the barrel of the gun to the back of Face's neck. "Way to be on your guard, Lieutenant."

Face spun around with so much surprise he lost his footing and wound on his ass in the durt, looking up at me. He smiled, a bit more sheepishly than normal. "That's what you're here for, right?"

I sighed and put the pistol away, tucking it back into my belt, under my light jacket. Then I offered a hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Nice of you to stop by, Face. Though next time it, you might want to try a different approach. I wasn't sure who you were."

"You figure it out before or after you put the gun in my back?"

"Before."

With some distant part of my brain, I realized I was still watching my words. I made note that for right now, I didn't have to. Hell, it might be _better_ for Face to hear that I might've shot him dead if I'd had any indication that he was a real threat.

"Where've you been, Face?"

"Here. Around." He shifted and glanced back to the beach. "Here, mostly."

He ran a hand through his hair. Why was he so nervous? No, not nervous. Embarrassed? He was shifting through emotions - all of them unpleasant - almost as fast as Murdock. And I had a feeling I knew exactly why.

"Face, why don't you just talk to him and get it over with?"

"I don't know."

Of course he didn't. Hell, if he knew the answer to that, he probably would've made it down there already. He put his hands in his pockets as he turned his back to me, eyes on Murdock and BA.

"How do you do it, Hannibal?"

"Do what?"

"How do you deal with seeing the... destruction? Knowing you're part of it?"

I paused before I answered. I understood what he was saying better than he knew. We were part of that destruction - a part that had caused that damage to Murdock. I had killed hundreds, watched them drop to the ground lifeless, but I'd never had to see the aftereffects - how that destruction truly affected everything. But Murdock was the proof of that destruction. He was the personification of the damage, the proof of everything we had done.

"I deal with it because I know it's there whether I see it or not. I can't just forget that. So I can either do something about it or try to ignore it, but one way or another, it's not going to go away."

"I know. I understand the logic. But for some reason, it's like as soon as I go down there and see him, talk to him - see _it _- then it's real."

I stood still, watching him quietly for a long moment, neither patronizing nor scrutinizing. Just watching. Finally, I sighed. "Look, kid. You can put this off for the next day, or week, or month - frankly, I don't care. You're the one who's gotta live with it. But I will tell you this. He's asking about you. And he's not stupid. If he figures out that you've been avoiding him, that conversation you're dreading so much is going to get a hell of a lot more awkward."

Face closed his eyes, then dropped his head back and looked up at the sky.

I uncrossed my arms and grabbed my cigar out from between my teeth. "I'm not going to force you, Lieutenant. But if you want my opinion?"

I circled around him. The sun was starting to lighten the sky a bit more, and the darkness and deep shadows had turned to shades of grey. But I paused to look back, to make eye contact once more.

"I think you're a fool for putting it off."

I headed to the hotel doors but I didn't quite make it there before he stopped me. "Hannibal?"

"Yeah, kid?"

There was pain in his eyes, deep worry and fear. He tried to keep it out of his voice, but didn't quite succeed. "How bad is he?"

I paused for a long moment, and turned back fully, to face him. "He's manic. He's medicated. He's sure as hell not ready to fly. And I'm not even sure he's ready to be out of the hospital. But he's holding it together. He's coherent. Making sense."

I paused, not sure if that was the answer Face was looking for or not. One way or another, it was all I had. It was the simple truth. And it seemed to be what Face was looking for. After a long pause, he dropped his eyes and nodded. "Thanks."

I stayed still and silent as Face took a deep breath and stepped out from the safety of the shadows, heading in Murdock's direction. I watched him go before turning away again, heading back into the hotel.


End file.
